


Of Mirrors, Farms and Quidditch; AKA Luna Fixes Everything

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: hd_erised, Draco plays professional Quidditch, Harry Potter/OMC - Freeform, Luna and Pansy run a matchmaking service, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Ron and Hermione have a teething infant and a sleep deficit, harry is a farmer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: Harry's got his whole life under control, and everything is great! Well, except for the bloody, hideous press. And he's kinda… lonely.





	1. Prologue: Grimmauld Place, June 1999

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Story Behind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367403) by [shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini). 



> I have to confess that I nearly named it the Fannee Doolee Farm. I didn't because I learned about Fannee Doolee from an ancient American kids show, and (much worse) I may be an American but I do nonetheless know what a Fanny is in Britain. Still, props to whomever can see why I was tempted, and mentions so in a comment. :D
> 
> Many thanks to shiftylinguini, who writes wonderful stories and also draws fabulous art. Sincere thanks to my friend iambadatcomingupwithusernames for taking a look at this when it was half done and helping me come up with good ideas. Many thanks to my beta and Brit picker, Christmas Socks. And last but not least, sincere yet completely unspoken thanks to my neighbor, whose wonderful little organic farm I have largely described herein without his knowledge! (He doesn't know I write fanfic and I'm not planning to tell him. ;)
> 
>  **Draco's gorgeous tattoo was fully inspired by:** Shiftylinguini's "[The Story Behind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367403)"
> 
>  
> 
> Also, if you are wondering how I oh so mysteriously got rid of the Elder Wand, it was the same way (basically) that i got rid of it in this fic:   
> (Everyone Wants the) Happy Ending  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223607

"Oh Harry, congratulations!"

"Well, congratulations yourself, Hermione," Harry said, his smile wry. "Don't sound _too_ surprised. Actually, you might want to practice saying that. Ron's about to finish the Auror Academy, after all. You don't want to sound so surprised when you congratulate _him_."

Hermione glared a bit, even though Harry's lopsided smile gave away his true feelings.

"Oh shut it, Harry," Hermione murmured eventually, smoothing the paper declaring her N.E.W.T. results. She'd taken ten exams and received an "Outstanding" in every subject. Harry, though he hadn't been nearly as aggressive, had nonetheless benefitted from a year with neither Voldemort nor Ron distracting him from his studies. He had taken seven and received an "Outstanding" in Defence, Herbology and Charms. He'd earned "Exceeds Expectations" in both Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures, and an "Acceptable" in History of Magic, which didn't bother him at all. It was a passing mark, first of all, and he'd never learned anything from Binns, so a passing mark from what amounted to a single year of study with an excellent teacher was a good result and he was fine with it.

"With those marks," Hermione said, still unable to tear her eyes away from her own results, "you can go work for the Ministry. No one would ever question your qualifications with results like that."

"I suppose," Harry said, getting up to head to his pantry. "I think I might write to Professor Bagshot-Smith, actually. Thank her for everything she did to help me learn this year."

Hermione finally pulled her eyes away from her N.E.W.T. results. "Really? That's an awfully nice gesture. I liked her very much, too, but it hadn't occurred to me to thank her. You're right, though." She looked down at her results again, ran a fingertip over her own "Outstanding" mark for the History of Magic. "Neither of us would have achieved anything like these results if Binns hadn't been persuaded to step down so Doctor Bagshot-Smith could take his place."

"Did you still want to go work for the Ministry, then?" Harry asked from inside the pantry, where he was dithering between two types of packaged biscuits. He knew Hermione had already received multiple job offers, and not all of them were in government. With N.E.W.T. results like hers, though, Harry suspected she'd be able to write her own ticket. He wondered how long before she told him she was moving out of Grimmauld Place and moving in with Ron. They both knew Ron was itching to get out of the student barracks.

"I'm torn," Hermione admitted. "And I'm not sure who to talk to about it. My mum wants to help, but she doesn't know enough about this job market, or this economy and government."

"McGonagall?" Harry suggested, and Hermione tipped her head to one side.

"Probably my best shot," she agreed. "And you? Auror training? Will you finally accept an accelerated course, like Ron and Neville did?"

"Nope," Harry said firmly. "Definitely not."

"No to which?" Hermione said, jerking up her head and looking at Harry with surprise.

"No to _both_ ," Harry said, with relish. He'd talked with Neville about it a few times, and that had got him wavering. But he'd finally come to a solid conclusion on this only two days previously, while talking with Dumbledore's portrait. He'd waited to share his thoughts with Hermione until he'd had a chance to change his mind. But (to his surprise) he had not wanted to, so now he felt comfortable sharing.

"Then," Hermione paused, looking confused and intrigued, "what do you want to do with yourself?"

"I want to do up my parents' house in Godric's Hollow," Harry said with conviction. "And then, I want to find a _boyfriend_."


	2. March 2000

"The Elder Wand was destroyed. Completely. I thought everyone knew that," Harry said, stirring his hot cocoa and frowning at Ellis, who didn't seem to notice.

"That wasn't just a story you told the papers?" Ellis said, flipping his hair again as though he thought Harry found that attractive.

"No," Harry said with conviction. He stared Ellis down until the other man looked away, his ears blushing slightly pink.

"I just reckoned..." Ellis began, but he didn't finish his thought.

"You reckoned wrong," Harry said, annoyed. "It was extremely dangerous and Minister Shacklebolt helped me dispose of it, in pretty much exactly the way you read about in the papers. No one lied to you about the Elder Wand, Ellis." Harry picked up his cocoa and sipped it carefully. It was still a bit hot.

"Of course," Ellis said, too glib, and Harry found himself wishing he'd stayed at home. Alone. This was their third date, and it was already worse than the previous two, combined.

"So," Ellis said, clearly eager to change the subject, "I was thinking it would be a lot of fun to go dancing?"

"Hm," Harry said, noncommittal. He did love the gay clubs, and going dancing. He'd finally learned how to dance, mostly thanks to Dean and Seamus, who'd been practically joined at the lips since the war ended, and who had taken it upon themselves to teach Harry to relax and enjoy the music. "Maybe. Did you have a particular club in mind?" Harry's favourite was CC Blooms, a Muggle place in Edinburgh, but he was open to other options.

"My favourite is the Unicorn's Horn," Ellis gushed, reaching to hold Harry's hand, which Harry allowed for a moment before pretending he needed to adjust his glasses and hold his cocoa mug with both hands.

"I don't know that one," Harry admitted. "Is it wizarding? I like the Muggle clubs. Better music." He didn't mention the complete lack of unscrupulous, invasive photographers. He hoped that went without saying.

"The Unicorn's Horn is really new, and they have very Muggle-style music," Ellis promised. "I really want to go! I told my flatmate we might be stopping by later, so it would give you a chance to finally meet Kit."

Harry wasn't sure he wanted Ellis to introduce him to Kit. Ellis spoke so highly of his oldest friend and flatmate that Harry sometimes wondered if he might like dating Kit better than Ellis. If he let Ellis introduce them, that seemed to make Kit off limits. But he knew Kit was already out-of-bounds, and sighed a little. It wasn't like he could engineer some sort of meeting and Kit wouldn't know he'd gone out with Ellis a few times. Kit would recognize Harry from the papers.

"Hm," Harry said, feeling like he should give Ellis the benefit of the doubt. He was Neville's third cousin, and he was a decent enough bloke most of the time. Very importantly, Ellis wasn't stupid, which (after Alix) was a top priority for Harry. Instead of Hogwarts, Ellis had gone to tiny Afallach on the Isle of Man, which gave them a lot to talk about, and he was a pretty good-looking bloke: trim and smooth, with a tight, high arse, blue eyes and floppy blond hair. 

He'd already tried to get Harry to fuck him, which Harry absolutely would have done if he hadn't been burned twice by pretty boys who'd eagerly opened their arses, then run off to the _Daily Prophet_ and opened their mouths. And their cameras.

Adrian was the first. Twenty minutes after they met, a still trusting and carefree Harry had fucked Adrian up against the wall outside the Flamingo Club in gay Manchester. The next morning Harry'd awakened to the worst _Prophet_ headlines he'd ever endured in his short life. There were no less than three articles about his "lack of maturity," "poor judgment," and "inappropriate choices" going on and on in that smug, judgmental tone they had perfected throughout his life. It made him want to take a wand to them all.

And the photos! Well, the _Prophet_ hadn't actually published a single nude photo. No, they'd left that for the sleazy sister publication hardly anyone knew they owned: _Magical Mirror_. Despite the tiny black "modesty" bars the Mirror'd printed in strategic locations over their Muggle-style black and white stills, he never wanted to think about those photos again. Adrian himself claimed to be just as shocked by the photos when Harry ran into him at the Farmer's Market a few years later, but Harry didn't really believe him.

He'd been far more careful afterwards, but beautiful, blond Remy had snuck in under Harry's radar, and, after six very pleasant, very innocent dates, Remy had unwittingly seduced Harry into fucking him in a room his cousin Marnie had filled with hidden cameras. After a week of coverage in the _Prophet_ (and racy, embarrassing photos in _Magical Mirror_ ) Harry had felt forced into giving an interview just to shut them all the fuck up.

He might have been willing to forgive Remy, too, but he'd utterly refused to see what Marnie had done — to both of them! — was a horrible violation. Reluctantly, he'd cut Remy out of his life.

After that, Harry had become somewhat paranoid about sex, and he hardly ever managed to have it. Not even with Muggles. Dancing, however, he did nearly every Saturday night.

"I'd like to meet Kit," Harry finally said, after finishing his hot cocoa. "You speak so highly of him."

"He's great!" Ellis enthused, looking like Christmas had come early. In retrospect, Harry realized this should have been a clue. "Let's go! I can't wait to get there!"

They _Apparated_ from the alley behind the coffee shop to a safe spot a couple of blocks from The Unicorn's Horn, which was on the new part of Diagon. They each took a moment to transfigure their clothes to look more suitable in a dance club, and then Ellis took Harry by the hand and pulled him toward The Unicorn's Horn, chattering all the way about Kit, songs he wanted to dance to, and drinks he wanted to try.

They were met with a barrage of flashbulbs and screaming reporters.

"Harry!" they yelled at him. "Is this your new boyfriend? Is he a bottom? Have you had sex? Did Neville Longbottom set you up?"

Harry wrenched his hand away and turned to face Ellis, standing close enough to look deep into Ellis' eyes. He frowned as he saw Ellis' fear, guilt, and excitement.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I want to launch my modelling career, and––"

Harry had heard enough. He _Apparated_ home and went directly to his drinks cabinet.

The next day he went to Iceland. He stayed for six weeks. Then he portkeyed to Canada. He visited China, checked out Greece, headed up the Adriatic coast through several of the Balkan states, and eventually landed in Australia. He only came home when he missed England and all his friends more than he appreciated being almost completely anonymous.

He had to find a profession. That would keep his mind off his complete lack of a sex life.


	3. April 2004

Stepping out of his Floo, Harry stopped. Looking at the floor, he wiped at his forehead and tried to make himself move. Fuck, but he was tired! Now that the new employees were all settled in, he was so glad Millicent and Neville had insisted on hiring more help for the farm. Though he did wonder how long it would take before they were turning a profit again. It would help when Jessica could staff a market stall by herself. 

Harry turned the water on in the shower and dumped his dirty clothes into his laundry basket. Pulling the elastic band out of the little bun Millicent's new girlfriend had recently taught him how to make, he shook his head to release his hair. He liked it longer like this. It was so much easier to tame.

Sticking his hand under the water, he sighed with pleasure at the heat. Part of him wished he were already asleep, but he both wanted and needed a hot shower. Dunking his head under the water, he reflected on the pair of workers he and Millicent had finally agreed were fully trained and ready to work without Harry's constant guidance and direction.

Pattin, the new accountant, had honestly been a brilliant hire. Of a sacred twenty-eight lineage, he was nonetheless very nearly a squib, and had not been admitted to Hogwarts. He wasn't actually magic-free, though — just close. He owned a wand and knew how to wield it. He could only cast a few spells, but he had those down pat. Not to mention his ability to deal calmly and professionally with both vendors and buyers, no matter how hysterical they might get. Well, it looked like a magic ability to Harry, at least. And if he learned how to get them Muggle grant money... then he'd cover his own salary, Harry predicted.

Jessica, too, had been a great choice. Muggle-born, she'd gone back and forth between worlds throughout her career. Her degrees in agriculture and soil science were exactly right, she was good with the _Daily Prophet_ when needed, and Millicent and Neville liked her as much as they liked Pattin.

Yes, Harry decided for the thirtieth time (at least), hiring both of them had been wise, despite the hit his vault was going to take for a while.

And, as Neville and Millicent had hinted, perhaps with them on board and integrated, Harry could possibly have time to… he swallowed at the thought. _Date_.

Clean, wet, and even more exhausted, Harry stepped out of the shower and blinked at his perfect, neatly folded towels. He was so fucking tired he could feel his eyelids and shoulders drooping. His long hair dripped clean water down his back and shoulders. A wave of his wand while he slumped toward his room, and Harry was dry and warm and ready for bed. He climbed in and fell asleep almost immediately.

\- * - * - * - * -

In the morning, Harry woke disoriented. It had been weeks since he had slept at his flat instead of the farm. It had been even longer since he slept nude. He usually woke with at least a halfie, but it didn't take long at a bustling business for someone to knock. That took care of inconvenient erections right quick. Harry hadn't had time for a nice, leisurely wank for quite some weeks. Rolling onto his back, spreading his legs, Harry grinned at his ceiling and reached for his dick with his right hand and balls with his left. Stroking himself slowly, he tried to conjure up some helpful images.

There had been that Scottish club he'd finally ventured back into, about a year, year-and-a-half ago. Right before they had started the bamboo to fix that wet depression and added all the chickens, and Harry had been too swamped to breathe. He'd always liked CC Blooms, and thankfully, the _Mirror_ had never risked violating the Statute of Secrecy to bother him there. Harry played with his foreskin and remembered. The place hadn't changed much in the years he had been away. Men everywhere. Hardly any women. The few women he had seen had been working, or dancing with other women. None of them had given him so much as a second look.

The men, on the other hand, despite being Muggles, despite Harry having spent three years sublimating all his sexual desires into perfecting the patterns of his natural ecosystems, integrating his water resource management, and tweaking his overall design synergy, had given him second glances galore. Harry had bought himself a drink and then hung back, drinking it slowly and watching men dance. As he was finishing his screwdriver, a handsome, tall blond had approached him. Harry sped up his hands at the memory. He'd nervously agreed to dance with the man, let the man touch him, grind against him. Once on the dance floor, quite a few men had moved to dance with him, and Harry had moved to the beat of multiple songs with an increasingly distracting hard-on. Eventually, a different blond had convinced Harry to go into the back room, and Harry had nervously followed, wondering if he'd misjudged the situation again, if they would have privacy, if he would regret this in a few minutes. But once they were back there, the hot blond had found the darkest possible corner, kissed him, undone Harry's flies, sunk to his knees and jerked himself off onto the floor between Harry's shoes while sucking Harry's cock better than anyone else ever had. Then he'd kissed Harry one more time and vanished back into the strobe light. The _Daily Prophet_ had never known. That particular memory belonged to two people, and those two people alone.

Harry had come quite a few times from remembering that night, and this morning was no exception.

Sighing in pleasure, Harry spelled the come off his stomach and hand and got up to shower again. Not because he needed one, but because he wanted one. Taking a day off was a blessing he'd foregone for perhaps just slightly too long. He loved his farm, but now that he trusted it was in enough good hands, it would be good to let go for a few days.

\- * - * - * - * -

By late Sunday morning Harry was so fucking bored he couldn't handle it. He had no idea what to do with himself, but laying on the couch watching telly was no longer an option. In desperation, Harry started trying to figure out who he could barge in on unannounced. It was Sunday, so Dean, Seamus and Ginny would all be at the orphanage Hermione had forced the Ministry to found a few years back. Ginny taught the younger kids to fly while Dean taught the older kids to draw. Seamus just helped out, not wanting to be away from Dean.

Ron, he knew from their last Floo call, would be spending his day helping Molly in her garden. Hermione would be busy with baby Rose and surely trying to sneak in either work or sleep should Rose ever successfully nap. George would be busy at Wheezes all day. Their weekends were all-hands-on-deck affairs. Harry usually saw George on Tuesdays.

But there was still Luna. She, Harry realized, was not only quite likely to not be busy, but she was definitely also the sort who would never object to a friend spontaneously showing up and suggesting they go out for Sunday brunch. Luna it was. Harry put on shoes, brushed and tried to put up his hair, tucked in his shirt, and _Apparated_ to Luna and Xenophilius' front step.

\- * - * - * - * -

"That's why you need to take home the questionnaire, Harry," Luna said, swirling her forkful of spaghetti through her eggs. "My new dating society is founded on the truth that magic not only has our best interests at heart, but it knows us better than we know ourselves." She took a bit of eggs and spaghetti and Harry forced himself to think about what she'd said instead of what she was eating.

"So the questionnaire will work out what I want in a date?"

"Exactly!" Luna said, grinning wildly and staring deep into Harry's eyes. Harry wondered, uncomfortable, did Luna think the magic would set him up with her?

"The magic is wonderful!" Luna gushed, spreading out her hands and closing her eyes. "Daddy and Pansy helped me with everything."

Sceptical, especially at this, Harry sat back in his chair. He wasn't necessarily ready to give up on Luna's dating society, though. He wanted a boyfriend who could both respect his privacy and handle his farm-centred life, and he was getting nowhere on his own because he was too busy guarding his privacy and taking care of a growing organic farm. Oh, the irony. "I would be willing to try it," he finally told Luna. "I'd really like to have a boyfriend."

Luna grinned wider and picked up a carrot stick. "Me too," she said. "A boyfriend sounds so nice! Let's finish eating and head back to my house. I'll get you all signed up!"

 _What the hell_ , Harry thought, and he grinned back at Luna.

"I've got nothing to lose!" he declared, feeling reckless and hopeful.

\- * - * - * - * -

> **What do I want in a partner?  
> ** What about me makes me a good potential partner?  
>  What would my best friend say is my greatest asset? My most annoying feature?  
>  What is my strongest motivation in life (so far)?  
>  Am I open with my feelings, or a hard nut to crack?  
>  How many times a week is the ideal number of times to have sex?  
>  Do I object to racist (including Mugglish, Muggle-born) and/or sexist jokes?  
>  Am I a cuddler?  
>  Is jealousy a healthy part of a good relationship?  
>  Is an ideal partner highly optimistic, pessimistic, or a mixture?  
>  Ideally, how much would a perfect partner tell me about where they are and whom they see when away from me?  
>  How am I most likely to show my partner I care? Words, actions, gifts or touch?  
>  Am I a workaholic?  
>  Am I a morning person?  
>  What kinds of music do I like most?  
>  Who has been the biggest influence in my life?  
>  What kinds of things really make me laugh?  
>  What's my favourite place in the entire world?  
>  Who is my best friend? What do I like about them?  
>  What's my biggest goal in life right now?  
>  What is my favourite way to spend a day off?  
>  Do I have any pet peeves?  
>  Who was my favourite Hogwarts professor? Why?  
>  Have I worked out my calling in life? What is it?  
>  Am I a traveller?  
>  Where do I feel most relaxed?  
>  What do I find attractive? 

It certainly seemed comprehensive, Harry mused, about to turn the page while he waited for Luna to follow him out to the patio.

"Don't see the questions yet!" Luna exclaimed, returning to see Harry with the opened folder. He closed it and looked up at her.

"The magic works better if you encounter the experience all at once. You must take it home, sit down with it and a quill at a good place to write, take seven or eight deep, cleansing breaths, and when you're open to the magic and the love, then you can open the folder. The magic will take care of the rest."

Harry didn't believe Luna, exactly. But he did want a boyfriend. So he hugged her goodbye, took her paperwork back home, sat down at his desk, picked up a pen and opened the folder. When he woke from the trance he was putting down the pen, his hand hurt, and he was surprised to see he had filled out Luna's paperwork in tremendous detail. He rubbed at his wrist for a moment and then began to read what he had written.

The questions went on and on, and Harry was a little astonished at the depth of his answers. He rubbed his sore wrist and saw he'd been clear about wanting a man who not only respected his privacy, but also understood sometimes LilyAlice farm would have to come first. He'd said a lot about his work, really. Harry wanted a man who had time for him, but had interests and concerns of his own.

Harry apparently wanted a man between 18 and 35. Harry liked one or two attractive tattoos, men who could play musical instruments, and men who spoke foreign languages (especially French.) He wanted a man who liked to switch, if he even needed anal at all. Harry enjoyed bottoming only slightly more than he enjoyed topping, but anal, really, was not necessary for a satisfying sex life. Harry loved sucking cock, he adored getting his cock sucked, and he loved hand jobs and frotting. Pansy and Luna were about to learn all of that, he realized, and felt his ears start to burn. He kept reading.

Harry wanted humour, even sarcasm. He even expressed some willingness to endure some heavy snark. But Harry wanted kissing and handholding and mushy, romantic strolls along the Thames, too.

He slowly read through the entire folder. Then, gobsmacked, he put it down, made a cup of tea and a couple of toasties, and read through several of the sections once more. Then before he could second-guess it, he activated the charm that sent the whole blessed thing off to Luna.

Exhausted, Harry went to sleep. He had to get back to the farm in the morning, and what the hell, eight at night wasn't that bloody early.


	4. Early May 2004

Harry went back to work Monday morning and threw himself right back into the beehives and chickens, the sunflowers and catflowers, the peas and the carrots and the cucumbers and tomatoes. Not to mention, the all-important question of whether or not they were finally ready for goats. Everyone else was sure. Harry was the only hold out. 

He would know when the cheese Jessica was making (with someone else's goat's milk she'd bought for far too much money) was ready. He would see how many of them actually enjoyed eating it. That would help him judge whether or not it would sell. Though, the fact that some other farmer was selling raw goat milk at those prices… was a good sign.

He should find out if goats would eat non-native invasives, like bloody Himalayan Balsam. That would clinch it, really. 

On the other hand, how much work would he have to put in to protect all the cobnut saplings he had planted only a year before? Goats might not eat what he wanted them to get rid of, but he was damned sure they would eat everything he did _not_ want them to eat, should they get access!

A week went by, then two, and he forgot he had sought help from Luna's dating "society."

Then the owl arrived.

> _To the gentleman I hope to meet,_
> 
> _I play professional Quidditch, so was quite pleased to discover a man who likes some privacy. No first date should ever be conducted under the watchful eyes of Rita Skeeter. (Or, Merlin help us, anyone who works for _Magical Mirror_!) Thus, I propose we meet tomorrow: Saturday 11am at The Loquacious Lyre, in Muggle London._
> 
> _From your stat sheet it looks like we attended Hogwarts together, so I assume we shall recognize one another immediately once we're both inside the pub. But just in case I shall wear a white carnation in my lapel and hope you will do the same._
> 
> _I have been playing Quidditch in France and was only just finally signed by a UK team, which Ms Lovegood tells me I must not name in this note. I will be happy to talk about it in person, however._
> 
> _Sincerely,  
>  The gentleman who looks forward to meeting you_

There was a second sheet of parchment, Harry realized after reading through the note. It was the man's stat sheet, from Luna.

> Your date!  
> 
> 
> Age: 24  
>  Sex: Male  
>  Gender: Male  
>  Pronouns: He/Him  
>  Preferred partners: 96% Male, 4% Female  
>  Out: 93%  
>  Height: 5'11''  
>  Weight: About 10 stone  
>  Hair: Blond  
>  School: Hogwarts  
>  Highly valued: Quidditch

Harry's stat sheet had arrived earlier, and Harry had stuffed it in a warded desk drawer and forgotten about it. He _Apparated_ home, sat at his desk and pulled out the parchment to take a look.

> Your personal statistics:  
> 
> 
> Age: 24  
>  Sex: Male  
>  Gender: Male  
>  Pronouns: He/Him  
>  Preferred partners: 73% Male, 27% Female  
>  Out: 100%  
>  Height: 5'10''  
>  Weight: About 10 stone  
>  Build: Trim  
>  Hair: Black  
>  Eyes: Green  
>  Skin: Taupe/Brown  
>  Profession: Farmer / Small Business Owner  
>  School: Hogwarts  
>  Completed: 1998  
>  Highly valued: Privacy  
>  Socialization: 64%Wizarding, 36% Muggle  
>  Personal Commerce: 21% Wizarding, 79% Muggle  
>  Business/Work dealings: 97% Wizarding, 3% Muggle  
>  Allergies: No  
>  Illnesses: No  
>  Wrackspurts: Not usually  
>  Pets: No  
>  Homeowner: Yes (Flat)  
>  Personal Habits: 21% Tidy, 79% Messy  
>  Top or Bottom: Switch/Bottom  
>  Rimming: Yes  
>  Fingering: Yes  
>  Light bondage: Yes  
>  Other BDSM: No  
>  Pain: No

Strange that his own stat sheet had so much more information on it, but he did appreciate that complete strangers wouldn't be handed all that information about him. Presumably, based on what he now knew about his blond blind date, all the other man knew was Harry was a fairly trim, not terribly tall, mostly gay guy who went to Hogwarts at just about the same time Harry did. Most of which could describe his soon-to-be-date, pretty much. But Harry had a little more to go on, thanks to that letter. Leaning back in his chair, Harry thought about who he'd attended Hogwarts with, who was blond, played a decent or better game of Quidditch, and wasn't Draco Malfoy.

He came up with three names, if he gave it a hell of a good stretch, but none of them were terribly convincing.

He decided to show up at The Loquacious Lyre anyway.


	5. A Beautiful Saturday in Late May, 2004

Harry debated arriving at the pub early — he was certainly ready to leave the flat early — but decided being exactly on time was really the only possible option. Arriving early would make him look desperate; late and he looked rude. But while being perfectly on time could mean he was a bit eager, it could also simply mean Harry was scrupulously polite. Which generally, if he was honest with himself, he was not. He was usually much too distracted and busy to be scrupulously polite. But, you know. Still.

He opened the pub's front door at 11am on the dot. He wore the new jeans even Millicent thought looked good on him, a plain green t-shirt Hermione claimed brought out his eyes, his very cleanest pair of boots, and the most casual suit jacket he owned because he was wearing it over a t-shirt, but how else was he going to put a carnation in his lapel? He wore his hair loose even though he had wanted to put it up in a bun. He only tried the bloody bun six times before he gave up. When was he going to learn how to do this himself?

He wasn't very surprised to see Draco Malfoy in profile at the long wooden counter, wearing a white carnation in his grey lapel and (based on the finger he'd pointed at the blackboard) asking the bartender about the day's specials. Harry paused by the doorway to get a look at him. Malfoy wore a light grey suit jacket over nearly black trousers. He'd got far more dressed up than Harry had. He looked… good. The way he was leaning onto the bar emphasized the long, lean lines of his back and legs, and showed off his — frankly — enticing arse. He was relaxed enough to balance on one foot, the far leg bent, only his toe hit the floor, and that leg he twisted slightly, back and forth. It made Malfoy look casual, comfortable; at-ease in a Muggle bar in a way Harry would not have anticipated.

The whole package on display made Harry very glad indeed he had not chickened out on this date, even though he had thought it was probably Malfoy he'd be finding.

Malfoy, on the other hand, turned at the jingle of the door finally closing. He startled, just barely, caught himself, and only then looked down enough to notice the white carnation that matched his own. Both of his eyebrows went up and Harry could not help but laugh softly in response.

"I take it," he said, striding to the counter to stand next to Draco, "you weren't expecting me?"

"I was not," Draco admitted as the bartender walked away to take a young woman's order. "I didn't have much to go on, after all."

"It was the Quidditch that tipped me off," Harry admitted easily, leaning against the bar, surprised by how interested he already felt. Of course, the man was incredibly fit. "Well, that and the blond hair. Put them together and it was either you, or Summerby. But I ran into Summerby at the Farmer's Market last year, and I was pretty sure he was well over six feet tall now."

"All I knew to expect was my age, my size, but with dark hair," Draco said, looking Harry up and down.

"That's not a lot to go on," Harry agreed.

"I always thought of you as quite a bit shorter than me," Draco said, pulling himself up, tall as he could go.

"I was," Harry agreed easily. "I grew a few inches after the war."

"I didn't," Draco said, scowling just the slightest bit. "Not that a Seeker wants to be huge," he continued.

The way he was now openly reassuring himself seemed a bad sign to Harry. He forced himself not to sigh. He didn't have a lot of experience with holding back on what he thought.

"Some sorts of huge," Harry said, slightly defensive, "appeal to a man no matter what he does for a living." He let his eyes sweep downwards, trying to imply he had a really big cock without explicitly saying so.

Draco seemed to take it as a compliment on his own cock, however, which was intriguing. Did he have a reputation he expected to precede him? Harry watched Draco shift his spine to push his crotch out just the slightest bit, to stand slightly taller, toss his hair a bit, then sneer with more confidence.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if that confidence was justified. Draco had always been a bit of an arse, but he'd also always been one of the hottest guys Harry knew. Did he also have a big cock and know how to use it? An intriguing thought.

"And who would expect _you_ to resort to a dating society?" Now Draco put his back to the bar and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why Draco," Harry said, forcing a light smile, "that sounds like a compliment."

"Not really," Draco said, his scowl even larger now, and Harry realized he didn't like that. Honestly, Harry was sort-of beginning to wish he hadn't bothered to come. He was, however, far too stubborn to say so. Or to give up. Plus, now he was really curious about Draco's cock. So Harry leaned in, just a little.

"Of course it was," he pushed. "Just like I'm surprised a man as handsome and fit as you are would resort to a dating agency. But I'm sure, like me, you have an excellent reason. Want to tell me what it is?"

Draco uncrossed his arms, then moved like he wanted to run his hands through his hair. He stopped himself, instead, to shove his hands in his pockets.

"I just moved back from France," Draco said stiffly. "And Pansy talked me into this."

"I'm very busy with work and have trouble meeting men who are interested in me, as opposed to what I can do for their reputations," Harry said. "And Luna talked me into this."

"Pansy and Luna, business partners," Draco said after a moment's silence. "Not something I would ever have predicted."

"Me neither!" Harry said, and he laughed a little. Finally, he thought. Something approaching common ground. "Want to get a table?"

"Well, I did trek all the way out here," Draco said, finally smiling a little. "So I suppose I might as well. Lead the way, boy wonder." He stretched a hand out towards the tables and booths, almost all of which were empty at 11 in the morning.

"I do hope," Harry said over his shoulder before striding to a table and pulling a chair out for Draco, "that by the time we're done chatting you'll be thinking of me as a man, not a boy."

"Well, well," Draco said, accepting Harry's chivalry with a lopsided smile and a still-raised eyebrow. "Perhaps I shall." Then he pushed out the chair opposite with his foot, and — relieved and a little giddy — Harry couldn't help but tip his head back and laugh out loud.

\- * - * - * - * -

It was a little weird, Harry reflected about an hour later as he watched Draco walk to the loo, how comfortably they were getting along now. He signalled to the bartender they wanted two more beers and another large portion of chips and thought about the hour that had just sped by.

Harry had given Draco sort of a bare-bones explanation of the farm, which had nonetheless required explaining organics, permaculture and a fairly comprehensive update on Millicent — Draco admitted he'd completely lost track of her while he was living in France.

Draco, in turn, had given Harry a brisk overview of both French Quidditch and the surprisingly exhaustive process he had been forced to go through to be hired as second-string Seeker for the Wigtown Wanderers. First there had been three day-long group tryouts, then he'd flown with the second-stringers, then the first-string team, and after that he'd been asked to play no less than three Seekers games against the first string Seeker, Barü Barcel, all in a row one sunny afternoon. He had lost two of those, and had then assumed he would never get the job. He'd been thrilled when, nearly a fortnight later (and blessedly, two days before he had to decide whether or not to sign another two year contract with the French team), he'd been contacted with a job offer that allowed him to return to England with a better salary, and a far better team, than he'd flown for in France.

More relaxed after these long, non-confrontational exchanges, they then talked over some technological advances that Muggle-borns had started to introduce to England's wizarding community. Mobile phones were starting to become, not quite _common_ , but at least unexceptional. In France it had started with Mp3 players, Draco explained. Harry told him that in England it had more been digital cameras that had led the way. As soon as they became capable of short videos, everyone wanted one. Unlike wizarding photos, they had sound, and as the people in them were just recordings, they couldn't choose to wander off and not come back, like the people in a "normal" photograph.

They'd caught each other up on just about everyone else they'd gone to Hogwarts with, from Ron and Hermione, to Luna, Pansy and Blaise, to Greg and Theo, plus Ginny, both Patil twins, Seamus and of course Dean Thomas, who was becoming a prominent artist. As it turned out, Draco had two of his pieces. Funny how, just a few years out, the slight tinge of nostalgia painted nearly everyone in the same warm, forgiving light of the past.

They had been there over an hour, and while they had more to talk about, and more to eat and drink was about to be brought to the table, Harry realized he should be deciding what to say to Draco about a second date. He wanted one. Part of him thought he should second-guess this idea, part of him was a little shocked. Their conversation had started out a bit rocky, after all.

But mostly Draco was a handsome, gay, appealing man who already knew a lot about Harry and after a few digs and a bit of snark, seemed to like him back just fine. The bartender brought over the food and drinks and Harry handed over a couple of ten pound notes, deciding that if this date was going to continue after these chips were gone, it should happen outside this pub.

\- * - * - * - * -

"So," Harry said, kicking a pebble out of his path as they strolled through Richmond Park, "that's why I have a room at the farm, but I keep a flat and I still own the house that holds the Godric's Hollow Museum."

"I have two places myself," Draco said, his shoulder brushing against Harry's again.

"Yeah?" Harry said, interested. He looked at the sky. Rain was imminent and there were enough Muggles in the park that he didn't want to pull his wand. Strolling through a rainstorm but staying bone dry tended to make Muggles stare. They would need to do something, and soon.

"I have a new place I just bought in Wigtownshire, but I still keep a suite of rooms at Malfoy Manor, too. I try to sleep there every fortnight or so. It makes my parents happy." He shrugged, and Harry felt it against his own shoulder. He wondered if they would already be holding hands if he didn't have his own deep in his jeans pockets. He thought they might be, and felt his ears warm pleasantly at the thought. Luckily, his hair was so long now that no one would see the colour change.

Harry wondered if Draco expected him to say something about Draco's parents, or the Manor. He didn't think that would help, so he deliberately stayed silent through a pause, only breathing out when Draco continued speaking.

"I sublet my place in Paris though, as soon as I got the Wigtown position. When my old landlord found out I'd done that, he just released me from the lease and had the new bloke sign one of his own. So that worked out really well for everyone."

"Who did you sublet to?" Harry asked, wondering how he transitioned this date to an end without tumbling into bed, but with a second date at least mentioned as something he hoped for.

"A mate from the Paris team. He'd been staying with his fiancée and she'd just broken up with him, gave him three days to get the fuck out."

"That did work out well for everyone," Harry said, impressed and sad for this unnamed French Quidditch player all at the same time.

"Look, Harry," Draco said, stopping in the middle of the path and turning to face him. "I don't want this to be awkward, but we've been talking for three and a half hours now, and—"

"Yeah, no," Harry said, and laughing a bit, he took his hand out of his pocket and scrubbed it through his hair. He watched Draco watch his hand and imagined Draco touching his hair, then shook himself free of the reverie and focused. "Right. I was just thinking pretty much exactly the same thing. I want to see you again. Would you like to come out to the farm? Next week, maybe. I'd love to show you around, you can see Neville and Millicent, maybe even meet her new girlfriend, Val. Then we can go back to my place and have a take-away."

Draco took a half step closer to Harry. "Back to yours?" he said, throaty and quiet. He reached for Harry's wrist but only touched the edge of Harry's sleeve. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"What do you want it to mean?" Harry asked, just as throaty, deliberately flirtatious and intentionally vague. He hoped his smile communicated his interest.

"I guess we'll have to find out when I get there," Draco said, stepping away with a rakish smile that sent a zing of electricity down Harry's lower spine. "I like Thai and Indian best. Not too spicy."

"Wednesday," Harry said. "Three o'clock good? I can owl you the Floo address for the farm."

Draco took another step back. "Make it 5? I have practice until 4:30 on Wednesdays and you will definitely want me to shower before I show up at your business."

Harry laughed. "Five is fine, but it's a farm, Draco. It's neither clean, nor sweet smelling. Wear boots."

"It's a date," Draco agreed, his toothy smile filling Harry's gut with butterflies.

They each nodded, then simultaneously turned away, each planning to _Apparate_ from different hidden sections of the park.

Harry took a deep breath as he walked away, then risked a peek at Draco's arse over his shoulder. He laughed when he saw Draco had pulled the same trick at the same moment.

"Wednesday!" he called out, and Draco saluted him jauntily before turning.

Harry had to force himself not to turn around a second time.

\- * - * - * - * -

Harry's fantastic mood only lasted a few hours. He'd gone home, put away his nice clothing, shrugged into his coveralls and shit-kicking boots, and Flooed to work. Goats, chickens, bees and fish did not take the weekend off. Not even if one only had two pregnant goats and twenty-three chickens. He'd thrown himself into fixing a damaged greenhouse roof, but when he got to a particularly repetitive part of the work, and he could think, he suddenly wondered if Draco knew how much Harry abhorred all things publicity.

Somehow, in all the time they had spent getting to know one another again, it had never come up.

Harry had assumed that a man he was matched with would see more information about Harry than his height and eye colour. He'd written so bloody much on that form! But then the stat sheet on Draco had held almost no information. So presumably, Draco didn't know anything about Harry that Harry had not explicitly told him.

Harry tried to reassure himself. Draco had wanted to meet in the Muggle world. He had specifically cited a need for privacy as the reason! Surely that was significant. Draco liked privacy for himself! Or was that just because Harry's stat sheet said he valued privacy? Of course, Draco had also qualified it, he'd said something about needing solitude _for a first date_. What did that mean?

In effect, what it meant was Harry spent nearly four days with his moods and outlook wavering all over the proverbial map. He spent hours sure that he'd made a horrible mistake. He spent almost as much time arguing with himself that — with chemistry like they'd had, it was worth the risk to continue exploring this possibility. But most of all, he drove his staff mad with his worry and constant chatter about Draco. His inability to listen to a word any of them had to say on the matter didn't lessen anyone's annoyance, either.


	6. A rainy Wednesday in Late May, 2004

Harry was running late.

It wasn't really his fault. Val had needed Millicent for moral support at a presentation she was giving at work, so Millicent had been forty-five minutes late to the farm. Which had meant that Harry had lost track of time while weeding the raised bed that the tomatoes shared with the carrots, celery, and cucumbers. As a result he had checked on the aquaponics fish later than he should have, and only then had discovered the break in one of the water lines. He'd been forced to fix it alone because Millicent was still in street clothes instead of her farm overalls. Fixing the line had really been a two person job, though, so by the time Millicent was helping him he'd hardly got anything done, and…

Well, suffice to say, Harry was running late. He expected Draco in three minutes but he hadn't _Apparated_ over to get the take-away and stash it in his flat under stasis charms yet, he hadn't rounded up the goats into the lower pasture to more easily show them off, he hadn't even got the chicken shit off his shoes. At least the three greenhouses all looked great and the aquaponics setup was working perfectly again. For now.

Frankly, he had to smell terrible. On reflection, it was good he hadn't shown up at Thai Towers like this. Hopefully Draco wouldn't mind going there with him.

"Millicent!" he yelled as he finally lured both goats into the small pasture at the bottom of the hill. They wouldn't be happy there for long. Harry practiced cell grazing and this section had been thoroughly grazed down just two days ago. But the goats could handle it for the twenty minutes it would take to show off the farm to Draco.

"He's not here yet," Millicent called back. She sounded impatient. Harry rushed toward her, attempting to spell his boots clean while he pelted down the hill, which never worked well.

"He's late, isn't he?" Harry knew he was fretting but he couldn't help it.

"Nope," Millicent said, her arms crossed over her chest. "We set the clocks forward on you because we knew this would happen. He's not due for nearly ten minutes. Will you calm the fuck down?" Millicent pulled her wand. Alarmed in spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but pull up in alarm, but she simply cleaned his boots.

"Thanks, Mills," he said, disregarding her narrowed eyes and heading into the small space they used as a shared office. Everyone knew she hated that nickname, and Harry almost never fucked that up anymore, but he was a mess right now and Millicent and Neville were just going to have to forgive him. He sat in the least broken swivel chair and ran his hands through his sweaty hair. 

"Ugh," he said, and grimaced. "I'm a fucking mess. Maybe I should pop home and shower."

In response, Neville shot a cleaning spell at Harry's hair. "No," he said from the dark corner where Harry hadn't seen him. "You shouldn't."

"Yup," Jessica said, coming down the stairs and spelling his clothes noticeably cleaner.

"I sense an intervention," Harry said, amused and nervous. He put his hands on his thighs and tried to glare at someone, but they were all coming at him from different angles and anyway, he knew he'd been an arse for days. "Think we can get it over with before my date gets here?"

"That's the plan," Millicent said, dry as dust. Then all three of them started shooting spells at Harry, too fast for him to discern what they were incanting. But he felt his skin cleaned, his hair tamed, smelled the perfume. He heard Demeter, the farm's barn owl, as she hooted approval.

"What the hell do I smell like now?" he demanded when they finally stopped.

"Vanilla," Neville said.

"Cloves," Millicent said, glaring at Neville this time.

"That's all right," Harry said, feeling a great deal calmer. He had great friends. "Vanilla and cloves go together fine."

"I'll take your word for that," Draco said from the doorway, and everyone else melted away like so much vanilla.

"Draco! Hi!" Harry stood up and felt the chair try to topple. He reached behind him to grab it, feeling like his clothes, hair and body were all a disaster and Draco would be disgusted. But he put on a brave face and walked out into the light. "I'd love to show you around!"

They strode into the weak, patchy sunlight together and Harry cast a shading charm over first his own, and then Draco's face. Harry turned away from Draco to face the greenhouses and raised beds. Behind him stood the small, two storey wooden building that was a partially enclosed space on the bottom and a tiny flat up above. Everyone called it the tent. Harry had built it with Neville shortly after they had purchased the land, and at first, it was where Harry slept every single night — despite the lack of a kitchen, shower, toilet, or even insulation. Thank goodness for magic. He still slept there quite often. 

"So that's the first section we gardened," Harry said, pointing at a fenced in garden surrounded by a covered chicken run. It abutted the rural public road and was very close to the tent. "Behind that are the beehives, two of the greenhouses, and a field we'll be planting this week, now that the chickens are finished with it. Above all that, just up the rise, are the lowest cell section for the goats, the third greenhouse, and all my cobnut saplings. I planted those last year. That's a long term investment, of course." Draco's eyes swept slowly over everything. 

Harry watched him smile. "I think we'll be able to see everything before the rain hits," he said. "It's a small farm. Let me show you the chickens?"

Draco nodded, letting Harry lead the way. Harry took a moment to notice that Draco had taken his advice and was wearing brand new farm boots. Something about the way Draco had taken him seriously felt new and pleasing. They headed around, behind the tent, to the new field the girls were currently fertilizing, weeding and turning. Harry explained his plans very briefly as he let Draco inside the area they had temporarily enclosed the chickens and their tractor into.

"So the chickens are doing the work for you?" Draco asked, as the birds scratched the ground, looking for tasty insects.

"That's the whole theory of permaculture right there," Harry agreed, proud as a new dad. "Everything works together."

Draco couldn't hide the fact that the modest flock of chickens were a bit overwhelming. They ignored him completely at first, since he was neither a grub nor a sunflower seed. But Fricassee and Lunch decided to come over, and when they started pecking at Draco's new boots, Casserole, Tetrazzini and Baked all came rushing over too, because if Lunch was interested in something then they were, as well. Then, since Tetrazzini was pecking and clucking and generally happy about something, a whole clutch of other hens started to take notice.

Eventually Harry resorted to throwing out a spray of feed with his wand so his birds would leave Draco alone. As the flock rushed off to eat their unexpected treat, Harry pulled Draco toward the greenhouses. "Sorry about that. There's a pecking order, and Lunch is just about at the top, so as soon as she expressed interest in you, a bunch of other hens followed her lead. Usually they all shy away from visitors, so I really wasn't expecting that." He tried to run his hands through his hair, but discovered that Millicent had apparently put his hair up in a bun for him while she was shooting that barrage of grooming spells.

"It's all right," Draco said generously. "All the chicks love me, obviously."

Harry laughed and pointed toward the greenhouse door, but Draco paused and stared at Harry uncertainly. "Did you say you named your lead chicken… _Lunch_?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh uproariously. He led Draco into his largest greenhouse and closed the door behind them as he explained. "The chickens are all egg-layers, not meat. The names are meant to be funny."

"I'm not sure that joke works, Potter," Draco said solemnly, but his mouth was twitching into a smile as he said it.

"So," Draco said as they surveyed Harry's first greenhouse. "I've already learned more about farming in a week than I previously had in my entire life, but I still don't know; however did you get into farming? The whole world thought you were going to be an Auror."

"Heh," Harry said, scuffing a boot along the dirt floor of the 'experimentals' greenhouse. "It's kind of a long story, but I can give you the short version?"

He tipped his head to look at Draco, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Well, Harry began, leaning against the doorjamb, "of course I couldn't be an Auror, with the Elder Wand and all—"

"But you got rid of the Elder Wand," Draco interrupted, "with Shacklebolt. I wouldn't have believed it from the _Daily Prophet_ , but then I read all about it in _Voix Magique_ , too. That was all true, right?"

Harry paused for a moment, filled with gratitude that Draco both knew and believed the truth. "Yes. Absolutely. But… well, I guess the thing with the Elder Wand proved to me that I didn't want to be an Auror, you know?"

Draco nodded as though he did know, so Harry continued.

"So I fixed up the old house, put in a big garden behind, and then realized I didn't want to live there, so—"

"You turned it into a museum, right?"

"Yeah. Have you been?"

"I've thought about it, but no," Draco admitted. "I hope you don't mind?"

Harry waved it off. "No, of course not. You know more about the Voldemort wars than most people our age. Anyway, then I did a bunch of genealogy research, mostly trying to find living relatives. Hardly found anyone I didn't already know about, though." He frowned a little before wiping it off his face. "I did manage to get my Gringotts vault completely cleaned and organized, though. That was part and parcel of the genealogy research. Tonnes of useful stuff in there, but almost everyone I'm related to is still dead."

Draco nodded once, solemnly, but said nothing.

"I worked at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for a bit, but I didn't enjoy it much. I got really tired of all the people coming in to look at me instead of the merchandise. So then I just traveled for a while. And in Australia, I met this farming teacher. Bloke named Bill Mollison. Got me interested in permaculture, and… well, I came home and started LilyAlice farm with Neville."

"Neville is less of a surprise. We all thought he would take over after Sprout retired. So, Neville, running a farm… not exactly shocking. Much less of a surprise than his heading to the Auror Academy instead of doing another year at Hogwarts."

"He still might move to Hogwarts. Sprout isn't retired yet, but she's over here a lot, loves talking to Neville. I think it will be a good ten or fifteen years before she retires, but when she does, I think Neville might be awfully tempted."

"Hm," Draco said, non-committal. "So, how did Millicent end up working here?"

Harry shrugged and smiled. "The simple answer is, we were looking for help, we placed an ad, Millicent applied and got the job. And damn, let me tell you, are Neville and I glad she applied. She's fucking brill. She really can fix anything."

Draco grinned widely at him. "Any Slytherin could have told you that. Millicent was always the genius with all things broken, damaged or otherwise fucked up. Everyone was always owing her favours." He frowned, looking down at the floor. "I can't tell you how many times I wished I could ask for her help in sixth year, but in retrospect, of course, I wish I'd never fixed that fucking cabinet."

Turning away a bit, looking up at the glass ceiling and watching rain pat it gently, Draco spoke again. "Do you think our past will get in the way of… whatever this might otherwise become?" Draco asked him.

Harry looked up sharply, his stomach suddenly full of butterflies. He'd been wondering this exact thing since he'd first seen Draco leaning against the bar in the Loquacious Lyre. He'd just not felt like airing the question quite so baldly. He stroked the leaves of a humming pomegranate tree Neville was working with and let it wrap some large, glossy leaves around his hand.

Draco sat on an overturned bucket, so Harry dragged one closer and sat down near him. "This got serious," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"It was inevitable, I think," Draco said, petting the same humming pomegranate. It liked him, Harry saw. It was leaning closer to Draco. He'd need to keep an eye on that. It would be really bad for the tree to knock itself over. Still, it was a good sign. That tree didn't like just anyone. Harry smiled slightly, and listened.

"If we hadn't already had a few hours of easy, comfortable conversations behind us, I might worry that our past would make this impossible. But from my end, well, you spoke up for me and my mother, you gave me back my wand as soon as I was acquitted. You accepted my apology. Very graciously, I might add. And then we… I like to think we grew up? It's been a few years. We've both travelled, I've lived abroad, I've learned a lot. I like to think that we can move beyond our school days. What do you think?"

Harry stood and moved the pomegranate pot closer to Draco, who looked alarmed when the tree used its new proximity to reach out for him with quite a few leaves.

"Er… the tree?" he said, and Harry laughed.

"I'm sorry if it's too much, but if I hadn't done anything that tree was going to knock itself over trying to reach you, and it would take a lot of root damage if it fell. So… I hope you don't mind friendly pomegranate trees?"

Draco turned to look at the tree, which was now humming loud enough for Harry to hear. "Um, it's a very nice tree, but…."

"I understand," Harry said, and smiling wide, he offered Draco a hand. Draco took it, stood, and then stepped back. Harry petted the tree a bit, till it settled down, then they walked towards the other end of the greenhouse. "We'll go out the back door." Harry pointed. "I did accept your apology," he said, leading the way through the aquaponics. They were using the system to grow herbs right now, and this section smelled vaguely like an Italian kitchen. "But did I ever offer you one? You weren't the only one who caused… harm. When we were boys."

"Don't you remember?" Draco asked, he'd been peering curiously at the tilapia before he looked up sharply at Harry.

Harry paused and looked Draco in the eye. "I feel like a moron. No. I did?"

"When you gave me back my wand, right after my trial ended."

"Ohh," Harry said, "yeah… I…. I guess you're right. If that qualified?"

"It was good enough for me," Draco said, looking quite serious. "But it's odd to hear that you don't really remember it."

"It isn't that," Harry said, opening the greenhouse door and leading Draco down a path made of bark and wood chips. "This is my well, by the way," he said, stopping to point at a hole in the ground. Over it hung a wooden bucket on a pulley. The hole was ringed with dark, wet rocks and not much else. It looked just large enough to drown someone.

"Is that warded?" Draco asked, looking nervous.

"Nope," Harry said. "And yes, I suppose it could be dangerous, though none of us have ever got hurt. It was here when I bought the land. It was a major selling point for me, really. I suppose I feel a bit romantic about it?" He cocked his head and thought about it. "This well was dug a few hundred years ago. No one seems to be able to tell exactly when. The farmer who owned the land at that time was almost certainly a Muggle. It made a good piece of land more fertile, more valuable. The land was farmed for generations, but then, for some reason lost to history, it was abandoned. Forgotten. Worse, it became a place where people dumped rubbish. A lot of that rubbish ended up in the well, of course. Cleaning it without magic would have been either shockingly hard or extremely expensive. Bloody hell, cleaning it _with_ magic took Neville and I over a week. The water was contaminated. But underneath all that plastic and the toxins, there was a well of pure, clear water. The well has never once run dry on me."

Harry turned his head to look at Draco, who turned his face, then his body toward Harry. They looked at one another in silence for a long, heavy heartbeat. "Was that a metaphor?" Draco finally asked him.

"Well, I suppose it might have been," Harry allowed slowly. "Though it was also all quite literally true."

"I see," Draco said, and he walked further along the path. "Show me this greenhouse, won't you, Potter?"

\- * - * - * - * -

They finally ended up at Thai Towers an hour after Draco had arrived at the farm. Harry saw right away that Draco had been quite serious about liking Thai food. He asked the boy at the counter several questions about what was good, and how the cook seasoned this and what oils he used to fry that, before finally choosing a dish Harry had never tried before.

Harry insisted upon paying for dinner and then they Flooed back to his place from the public Floo down the road and ate on Harry's warded and covered balcony.

"And that's how Millicent hoodwinked Neville into inviting Val to tour the farm, so Millicent wouldn't have to do it! Of course, they've been practically inseparable ever since."

"Well, you do know the old joke about what lesbians do on a second date," Draco said, scraping the last of the rice from his bowl with his chopsticks.

Harry shook his head, confused.

"First they spend a few hours painstakingly deciding between flats, then they move in together," Draco said, looking up at Harry with a mischievous little grin.

Harry couldn't help the guffaw he let loose at this. "That is too fucking true," he said, still laughing. "Not just Millicent and Val, but Ginny and Cuifen, too."

"It describes Barü and Ayesha, too! Lesbians are not like gay men," Draco said, leaning back in his chair and enjoying the damp, clean air of London after a hard rain.

Harry raised one eyebrow and waited to see where Draco was going with this.

"We tend to shag within minutes but take years to actually admit we have feelings for one another, let alone do things like move in together."

"Not me," Harry said, frowning and looking at the concrete floor of his balcony.

"No?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow of his own.

"I hardly ever fuck anymore. We should definitely talk about this." Harry raised his wand to check the privacy wards on his balcony.

"That's the second time you've done that," Draco said, surprised.

So Harry told him about Adrian, Remy and Ellis. He talked about the alley photos, the hidden cameras and the launch of a very brief modelling career. He explained about feeling forced to do invasive, embarrassing _Daily Prophet_ interviews, and how he still couldn't wear his own face in his own stall at the weekly Diagon Alley Farmer's Market he had been instrumental in founding. "People _still_ come up to the market stall to ask my staff if they can photograph me, or go out with me," Harry said; "even though they don't think I'm there. I get owled requests for interviews all the bloody time. Still. Usually from those fuckers at _Magical Mirror_. And we've never been able to give farm tours, or sell products on-site. We tried once and the press came in force, though we'd specifically disinvited them. It took a month to get rid of the trap spells, the surveillance devices, the surreptitiously added _Apparition_ access points."

"Fuck," Draco said, looking stricken. "That's horrible. I had no idea it was still like that for you."

"I had no idea it would last this long," Harry said, feeling far less flirty and sexually enticed than he had only a few minutes before. "But I did need to talk with you about this. I wrote a tonne about my need for privacy when I filled out my dating agency forms, but I don't think you got to see any of that."

Draco shook his head to say no, he had not.

"You're trying to become a Quidditch star," Harry said, running a hand through his hair nervously and messing up Millicent's bun. "Would you have the slightest interest in spending time with a man who abhors publicity and never wants to be photographed again?"

"Second-stringers don't get any press, Harry," Draco said.

"You wouldn't have tried so hard to join the Wanderers, specifically, if you didn't think their first-string Seeker was starting to age out of the game, Draco. I follow Quidditch. Barcel is a good Seeker, but she's not as good as she used to be, and she had to sit out a few games last year for injuries."

Draco admitted this was true with a slight nod and a little wave.

"So, tell me, Draco, would you?"

Draco leaned back and surveyed Harry slowly, looking into his eyes, lingering over his chest, skipping down to look pointedly at his groin, his thighs, even looking at the shit-kicking boots he was still wearing. Then he looked up, back toward Harry's face, and smiled. His smile was sort of sweet, then less so, then it started to become positively predatory. Harry swallowed and watched Draco's eyes track his Adam's apple.

"I would," Draco answered him.


	7. A hot Sunday evening in early June, 2004

"Come on in, Harry," Draco said, opening his door. His new place looked smaller than Harry had expected, with neighbours right up against the house on both sides, but Draco had boasted about his great view of the bay.

"Barcel played really well last night," Harry said, coming in after wiping his feet.

"Yes," Draco said, closing the door to the street. He was wearing a rather fancy outfit for the cinema: a crisp blue shirt that looked almost as though it had been ironed after Draco donned it. His trousers were a deep navy. They were perfectly creased and showed off his arse quite nicely. "I think it will be quite a while before she gets pressured to retire."

"Is it really frustrating to get all kitted out and then sit on the sidelines for the whole game?" Harry asked, thinking maybe he shouldn't have worn denims and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, but it was a bit late now to change, so he smiled at Draco and tried to forget about the disparity in their outfits.

"It is, a bit," Draco admitted. "Come on in, have a beer. We can sit out back and watch the bay for a while before we go to the cinema."

"Sure," Harry said, pleased to share a few relaxed moments alone. "We don't really need to leave for a good," he looked at his watch, "twenty minutes, I'd say."

Draco grabbed a pair of small green bottles from his table and gestured toward his back door. "I was first string back in France, no less, though our team was a bit shit. A few times I caught the Snitch and we lost the game anyway."

Harry laughed, in spite of himself. "At least the Wanderers win pretty often," he tried, following Draco outside.

"Yes, that is nice, even when I don't get to play. Have a seat. The salt breeze is quite nice, I think."

Harry sat on a patio chair and looked out at the bay. "Wow, yeah. It really is. Especially when it's this hot. Funny how infrequently I see the water," he said, surprised.

"Indeed," Draco drawled from behind him. "As Britain, our home, is an _island_."

Harry rolled his eyes but refrained from returning the snark. He couldn't think of anything good enough to bother, honestly. Hanging out with Draco so much was reminding him of that quick, quipping wit he envied, but didn't exactly have.

As Harry thought about this, Draco sat slowly in his own patio chair. Harry caught a wince he thought Draco had tried to hide.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, nothing," Draco said, dismissive, but his smile looked the tiniest bit forced. He took a long swig of his beer. "What film did you say you wanted to see?"

"I thought we could try _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_. It's about relationships, and romance. Oh, and memory, and starting again." He smiled a little self-consciously, but Draco looked pleased.

"That sounds just about perfect," he said, and moved slowly in his chair to face Harry a little more squarely, then sipped from his beer bottle. "I learned to like films in France, you know."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, but he was watching the stiffness in Draco's posture.

"A teammate, a muggleborn: Molyneux. He was our best Chaser. Anyway, he loved films. He convinced me to see one with him not long after I joined the team, and it was such fun, I started going with him all the time. What's funny is, I no longer remember which film that was, that first one I saw. I suppose I've seen too many, now."

"Do you miss France, or your teammates?"

"Some? Not that much, honestly. I mean, it's just over there," he waved vaguely southeast with his bottle before tipping it back again. "When I miss it, or them, I can just go back for the weekend or something."

"True," Harry said, glad Draco wasn't missing his previous life all that much. "Did you miss England while you were living in Aurillac, though?"

Draco gave a wistful little smile and Harry felt his heart jerk a bit in his chest. _Too early!_ he thought, and refocused his attention on the conversation.

"Now that I will admit to," Draco said, and he traced a little circle on the small table between them where his nearly empty beer bottle now sat. "I missed England, and Wiltshire. Scotland, too. That's one of the great things about living here, really. I'm in southern Scotland, I'm so close to England; and so many of these little Scottish towns are full of magical folk. There are Floos hiding in the back of half the shops in Wigtownshire, and the Muggles have no idea. This whole county is a model of silent integration." He smiled vaguely toward the bay, but his posture was still stiff.

Harry finished his little green beer and tried to think of something to say. He wasn't usually this distractible anymore, but something was wrong with Draco and he wasn't sure how to confront him.

"Would you mind grabbing a couple more beers?" Draco asked him. "They're in my pantry, should be easy to see. I'll take another Wyvern Jade, but I have other kinds, take whatever you want."

"Sure," Harry said, glad for a way to help. He checked his watch. They had another ten minutes before they were really pushing it, but that was only because Harry wanted popcorn. He found the beers easily and dithered for a moment between a Pale Ashwinder Ale and a Samuel Smith stout he was surprised to see in Draco's pantry. He was 99% sure they were a Muggle brewery. Eventually he returned to the patio with an Ashwinder, as Draco had quite a few more of those, so taking one seemed less of an imposition. As he slipped quietly back onto the patio, he caught Draco rubbing his own shoulder.

"Look," Harry said, putting hands on hips, "you're killing me here. There's obviously something wrong with your back. What's the matter?"

Draco blushed a little across the bridge of his nose and it was so fucking cute Harry had to force himself not to stare.

Draco tried Harry with an innocent look, as though he had no idea what Harry might be on about, but while Harry might not always be fast with a quip, he was great with stubborn silence. It wasn't long before Draco's eyes dropped to his own feet.

"We had a really hard practice this morning, since we nearly lost to the Tornadoes. I wrenched a muscle in my shoulder, but it's no big deal, I don't want to miss the film."

At this nonsense, Harry rolled his eyes, making sure Draco saw. "It's just a film, for Merlin's sake, Draco, we can go any time. It isn't like we have theatre tickets. Or a timed portkey. Stand up, go inside and take off your shirt. I'm going to give you a back rub."

Draco's eyebrows both rose into his hairline. "But—"

"No objections," Harry insisted. "None. Go inside. Take off your shirt. Lie down somewhere. The floor. The couch. I don't care. You need help. Why didn't the team physio take care of this?"

"It didn't hurt at all when I left," Draco said a little sheepishly. He rose stiffly and moved toward his couch. "I'd no idea I'd hurt myself until about half an hour ago." He began to unbutton his crisp, blue Muggle shirt and Harry had a moment of insight.

"Is that why you got so dressed up just to see a film? Because you didn't want to have to pull a top on over your head?"

Draco didn't respond verbally, merely blushing deep into his half-unbuttoned shirt and turning slightly away.

"Bloody hell, Draco," Harry said. "You're obviously in real pain. I hope I can help." He cracked his knuckles as he stretched out his tendons and hands. "What spells have you tried?"

"I've tried some warming spells and I took a pain-killing potion right before you got here. They might be interfering with one another, now that I think about it."

He finished unbuttoning his shirt and Harry helped him get it untucked, eased it down off his shoulders, and helped him lie on the couch. Then Harry pulled over an ottoman and sat on it, finally getting a real look at Draco's slender, muscled back. A golden, four-winged insect of some sort seemed to have alighted on Draco's left shoulder blade. It was so beautifully crafted that it took Harry a heartbeat to realize it was a tattoo, not an actual bug. It didn't even move, Harry realized. Was it Muggle?

"That's a gorgeous tattoo," Harry said, conjuring a thin sheen of Vitamin E oil on his palms. He smoothed his hands slowly down Draco's back to help him get accustomed to Harry's touch before the real backrub started. His cock perked up at the feel of Draco's warm skin, but he ignored it. Draco was in pain, for fuck's sake. "What kind of insect is that?"

"It's a Snitch-winged dragonfly," Draco said, still holding his spine rigid. His voice was tight, too.

"It's beautiful." Harry spelled off both their shoes with a sigh. "This injury must really hurt," he clucked. "You're about as relaxed as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs." He began to press gently on Draco's shoulders, feeling for knots in the muscles and watching to see if Draco relaxed at all, or winced again, instead. So far he was still just stiff and miserable.

Draco made a confused little noise, so Harry explained. "I think that must be a Muggle saying. I learned it from my old friend Arabella Figg. She's a squib. Lived down the road from me when I was growing up. She has a _lot_ of cats and kneazles. She breeds them." Harry had found a large, hot lump in Draco's shoulder area, and he started to work at it gently but firmly. Draco, he could tell, was trying hard not to tense up any further.

"Do squibs have rocking chairs that hurt cats?" Draco sounded genuinely confused.

"Um," now Harry was confused. "Are there rocking chairs that don't hurt cats' tails if they get underneath?" He continued to press and rub at the lump and the area around it. He thought he might be working out the knot, slowly but successfully.

"Of course," Draco said, surprised. "While my Great-Grandmother Malfoy was still alive and living with us, she had both a rocking chair, and a kneazle. Big, fat, sleepy thing, spotted. Named Caboodle, of all things. Grandmother didn't think animals should have human names. Anyway, her rocking chair was charmed never to… oh. Heh." Draco was starting to relax more, Harry realized. He should keep him chatting about pleasant, inconsequential things.

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling. "No charms on Muggle chairs. But I didn't know you lived with your great-grandmother for a while. Tell me about her?"

"Great-Grandmother was…." Draco sighed, relaxing microscopically, incrementally, under Harry's warm, oiled hands. Harry forced his mind away from sex, made himself listen. "She was wonderful and also sort of terrible. When Father was around, she was demanding, imperious, proper. She expected more of me than Father did. But when we were alone, she was… the best. She loved to take me on her lap and read me stories. On that very rocking chair, with Caboodle sitting at her feet, or nesting on the back of the chair."

Harry made a small, encouraging noise, and renewed the sheen of oil on his hands. That knot felt gone, but as much pain as it had caused, Harry knew Draco's back muscles were almost certainly all reacting. He'd had many a long, therapeutic, backrub from Neville as they'd gotten LilyAlice Farm up and running. He'd returned the favour multiple times, himself. He still needed a good back massage occasionally. Hard farm work often led to back and neck pain. But now he just went to a Muggle massage therapist rather than burden Neville.

"Did you two do other things? Besides read books, I mean?" Harry stroked his hands up and down Draco's back, over and over, with a steady but moderate pressure. That tattoo really was something else. He would work to remember to ask Draco about that, next. He was fully erect now, and that was distracting, but this wasn't the time. He tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position without taking his hands from Draco's strong back. Why had he worn jeans?

"She liked to take long walks around the lands and gardens," Draco said, his words refracted through a heavy-lidded nostalgia. "No matter the weather, she'd just layer on any necessary charms to keep us both warm and dry, and off we would tramp, through the snow, or through the heat… she loved the Malfoy lands. She'd married into the family, of course. She grew up in Iceland. She used to hint that Great-Grandfather had chosen her for purely superficial reasons. Her grey eyes and white-blonde hair. Her moderate means and moderate magical strength. But anyway, whatever the reasons he'd married her, she was a Malfoy far longer than he was. Great-Grandfather died when my Grandfather was a little boy, but Great-Grandmother was nearly a hundred fifty years old when she died. I was eight."

Draco sighed. "I was sad, of course, but her last few months were rough, and — even at eight — it was easy to understand she'd lived a good, long life and she was better off now." Draco stretched a bit under Harry's hands, testing his muscles just slightly, then a bit more. "I feel so much better now. You can stop any time you want. I don't want to put you out."

"I like touching you," Harry said, deliberately quiet, warm. "Tell me about your tattoo?"

"Mmm," Draco purred, clearly pleased. "I got it the first year I lived in France. Molyneux, the Chaser? He was Muggle-born, I think I said? Anyway, he loved tattoos. He used to travel all the way to this one particular artist's shop in Belgium to get a new tattoo every year or so, and the first time he got a new one after I joined the team, he asked me to come along."

"You two seem to have been… quite close?" Harry said, rubbing long strokes down Draco's trim, muscular arms. He sucked in his stomach, trying to make more room in his jeans for his erection. 

Draco's low chuckle was appreciative. "Molyneux was the one who moved into my place after I left. The one whose fiancée dumped him? He's straight as a wand. Nothing sexual ever happened between us. Not remotely. We did see a lot of films together, and he did convince me to get this tattoo. He's a good friend. I was sorry Aimée broke up with him. He was mad for her."

"And the tattoo?" Harry reminded, by now quite curious.

"I did go to Belgium with him that first time, and I was utterly intrigued, but I didn't get any ink. Instead," Draco sighed sweetly as Harry rubbed thumb circles in the muscles of his lower back, "I just thought about it for months. Eventually I decided that if I was going to be that obsessed with the idea, I needed to try to pick art for my own tattoo. I honestly thought that was a great stalling tactic. Reckoned I'd never settle on anything." He laughed, warm and syrupy. His back didn't feel tense anymore, though Harry suspected his upper right side would still hurt for a good while. He wondered if Draco had more pain potion in the house.

"But that's not what happened?"

"No," Draco said, as Harry moved his hands down and up, slow and sweeping. "I found this idea within a week and then couldn't let go of it."

"Well," Harry agreed, "it's beautiful. Is that a real kind of dragonfly? I've never heard of those."

"Not many people around here have," Draco agreed as Harry switched to light, gentle touches. "Despite our love of Quidditch. They aren't native to this part of the world at all. They live on these magical islands hidden off the coasts of Australia and New Zealand. Also, the magizoologists only discovered the dragonflies a few decades ago, back in the 1960s."

"Why did you want one on your shoulder?"

"Is there a more appropriate tattoo for a professional Seeker than a Snitch?" Draco laughed, rich and confident.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out, nice and slow. That laugh was going to be the death of him, he swore internally. He never bedded a man this early on, but he heard that laugh and all he wanted to do was open his legs. Or his mouth. But instead he forced himself to think about what Draco had said.

"It isn't a Snitch, though," Harry objected.

Draco put a hand on the floor, searching blindly for his wand, so Harry leaned over slowly, and put it in his hand. Draco cast a spell to sink all the oil into his skin, then he rolled over onto his back and looked up at Harry. "It's close enough, Harry," he said, soft and throaty. "Let a man have the occasional secret."

"Er," Harry said, "all right." He felt weird, and terribly curious, but of course Draco was entitled to a secret. "How does your shoulder feel?"

"A thousand times better," Draco said, grin suddenly lighting up his face. "Would you like to help me test it out?"

Harry felt desire and reluctance flood in equally at the offer. "So much," he breathed, but he didn't move.

"I know," Draco said, low and smiling, "how to keep a secret."

Harry looked into Draco's eyes. He saw lust, there; he saw flirtatious, eager nerves. He saw nothing calculating, nothing of satisfaction, nothing even vaguely resembling triumph. 

Harry climbed onto the couch.

Draco grinned, a huge smile full of joy and pleasure, and moved back, turned onto his side, pulled Harry into his arms. Harry grinned back, and then, tentative, leaned in just enough to give Draco a little peck on the lips.

Or so he had intended, but Draco took control, opened his mouth, deepened the kiss and pressed his hips to Harry's. 

They were _both_ hard. Harry moaned, and Draco sucked in Harry's sounds, tipped his hips into Harry's and rolled Harry halfway underneath him. 

"May I take off my trousers?" Draco asked, and Harry didn't give himself a chance to think, he just nodded, spoke: "Yes. Bloody hell, I want to see you."

Instead of answering, Draco jumped off, pulled his trousers down and dumped them on the floor. Standing there in nothing but utilitarian, white y-fronts and socks, Draco should have looked goofy, but Harry hadn't seen anything so beautiful in years. He looked, hungry, as Draco stroked his erection through the white cotton. 

"You're _hung_ ," Harry moaned, staring. Draco grinned at him, toyed with him, pretending to uncover his cock, staying hidden.

"You felt about the same," Draco said. He sat on the ottoman, hand still toying with his covered dick. "May I see?"

Harry wanted to. He wanted Draco's hand on him, his mouth, his _cock_ on his. But he couldn't help but hesitate. Visions of headlines and little black "modesty bars" filled his vision and he blinked them away.

"I know you've been burned before," Draco said. He took Harry's hand. "Others have violated your privacy in ways I… can hardly believe. But no one else has access to my house to hide cameras here. And I would _never_ want to share you, share this, with the world. I want to keep this, you, to myself. This is for you, and me. No one else."

Harry squeezed Draco's hand. He looked into Draco's eyes and waited. Nothing changed there. This… was real, Harry decided. He let go of Draco's hand and unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped them. He went to push them down, then he stopped. He grinned at Draco and then he caught more fabric in between his thumb and palm.

He wriggled his jeans and pants down over his erection.

Harry watched Draco's eyes track the movement, watch Harry's cock emerge. He watched Draco's joy, his lust, his grin. "You're hung, too," Draco breathed out.

Harry blushed.

Draco took off his pants and climbed back onto the couch. 

They reached for each other. Draco took both Harry's arse cheeks into his two hands and squeezed. "Your arse is fucking perfect," he huffed into Harry's ear. "Who knew farming was so good for the arse?"

Harry giggled, but that didn't stop him from taking Draco's cock and balls into his own hands to caress, to stroke. 

"Your balls are so hairy," Harry marvelled. "Do you top? I'd love to feel all that wiry hair against my balls while we fuck."

"I love everything," Draco said, and kissed him. "Topping, bottoming, fingering, blowjobs…." Draco ran his hands up and down Harry's bare back, pulled him in for a kiss. "But I'm so hard, I want to come. Soon. I've been hard since you first put your hands on my back. Would you like to 69?"

"Ungh," Harry groaned. "I really want to suck you, yeah, but right now, can we just wank together? I want…." he put his head in Draco's neck and took a deep breath. "I want to be looking into your eyes when you come."

They both did.

They saw that film a week later.


	8. Summer becomes Autumn

They continued to progress slowly, thoughtfully, through the early stages of a relationship. They cautiously introduced one another to friends again, this time with their new status explicit. They went to Muggle restaurants and Muggle parks and Muggle bars. Harry introduced Draco to CC Blooms and they danced all night long — first on the dance floor, and later in Harry's bed. They had dinner together at Ron and Hermione's, and then at Blaise and Linnie's, and then at Luna and her Dad's. Harry went to the occasional team practice and Draco stopped by the farm's market stall a few times before the summer season ended.

The only place where things went quickly was in bed. Their chemistry was explosive, as Harry had somehow always known it would be. He found himself sleeping at the farm less and less frequently.

But the line Harry would not, could not cross, was in front of the magical public.

\- * - * - * - * -

"It's our last big game of the season, Harry. Please."

"You probably won't play, though," Harry tried, wincing even as he said it.

"You know Barü's shoulder is still healing," Draco said. He was visibly losing his patience. "So I almost certainly _will_ be out there. I want my boyfriend in the stands, cheering me on. Wearing your own mother-fucking face."

Harry winced again.

"Don't you want the focus on you, though? If I show up, un-glamoured—"

"They won't know you're there, they won't be focused on you. It will be sports reporters, Harry. Gossip columnists don't report on professional Quidditch games! For fuck's sake, why is this so bloody hard?"

Harry curled his shoulders inward and tried to decide whether or not this was a hill he wanted to die on. _What was the worst that could happen?_ he wondered. _It's been years._ Draco had made some very good points.

"This is obviously very important to you," he eventually said, conciliatory and delicate. He watched Draco's fists open and felt good about the gesture. 

He could do this. He would do this. It would be fine.

\- * - * - * - * -

Harry stuck his head into the Wanderers locker room.

"Hey, Harry," Barü called out. "You can come in."

"How's the shoulder today, Barü?" Harry asked. She was kitted out, but sitting down on the bench closest to the locker room door.

"I think the coach is going to take me off," Barü said, scowling. "All the better for your Draco, but I'm not best pleased. I'm sure I'm up for this. It's our last big game of the season!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That's why I'm here. Draco really wanted my face in the stands, even if he was sitting this one out. It means a lot to him to have my support."

"Don't underestimate that, Harry," Barü said, nodding firmly. "I can't tell you how much better I play when I know my wife is here, cheering me on."

"Well," Harry said, grinning. "Of course. But Ayesha is the best. The whole team plays better when Ayesha is here."

"And don't you forget it," Ayesha called out from the doorway. 

"Ayesha!" Barü yelled as she got to her feet and headed toward her wife. "Surkati is fucking making me sit it out!"

"I'll see you two later," Harry said to Barü's back. 

A few Wanderers called out to Harry as he walked toward the back corner Draco preferred. The whole team was used to him now. He never got any starry eyes or stumbling tongues anymore, and he was grateful. As far as he could tell, they all treated him pretty much like they would treat any team member's squeeze. 

Harry thought it helped that, as a professional Quidditch team on the rise, they all knew what it meant to deal with some measure of fame and to want to avoid the press. They also knew what it looked like if you failed. Just last month some arse at _Magical Mirror_ had managed to catch Cameron as he'd stumbled out of a bar at 3am, drunk as a skunk and about to vomit into the bushes. The Beater had been furious for a week about the humiliating photos and nasty, scolding captions. His brother and his girlfriend had been furious and humiliated, too; as they'd been photographed right along with him.

"Hey love," Harry said when he saw Draco's back. He was facing the wall, pulling up a sock, one foot on a bench, the other on the floor. His arse was enticing and Harry forced his eyes off. "Barü thinks it's your game, today."

"Does she?" Draco said, rolling his Quidditch leggings down over the top of the sock. "Surkati was hinting, before. I should go and ask him." He gave Harry a quick kiss on the lips and squeezed Harry's arse cheek for good measure before wandering out, looking for the coach.

\- * - * - * - * -

The game was great. Barü was allowed to fly for the first twenty minutes, until she pulled herself out of the game and let Draco take over. She joined Harry, Ayesha, and Naheed's (who played Chaser) boyfriend Jody and sister Zohreh in the sky-high Privacy Box where family and friends of team members generally watched home games. Other people associated with the team continued to arrive as the game progressed. The other Beater's dad, the Keeper's husband. Harry stopped paying attention after Draco entered the air.

Harry had seen Draco fly this stadium before, but only during practice, and only from the field. The difference was electrifying. He found himself pressed against the glass, staring openly at his boyfriend, watching him fly. Like a Muggle helicopter, Harry thought. No, like a hummingbird. Like Superman, in a film. Like a demon.

No.

Like a dragonfly.

Harry knew Puddlemere was favoured to win, especially once Barü left the game. After all, Draco was 'just' second-string. Yet, as Barü and Harry stared at Draco through the enchanted windows of the VIP Privacy Box, Harry found himself increasingly certain Draco would catch the Snitch, and that his win, during the last game of the season, with him on field only because the first-string Seeker had pulled herself out of the game due to a recurrent shoulder injury, would elevate Draco's place to one of the best Seekers currently playing in England.

As Draco spun into a vortex dive with the Puddlemere Seeker right behind, both stretching out their hands for the Snitch, Harry was tempted to console Barcel over the end of her career — happening right before her eyes — as her replacement plucked the Snitch from the air only a few dozen feet from the ground.

Draco caught the Snitch and shot back up into the air, wielding his Golden Snitch like a sword and thundering triumph. A heartbeat later the stands exploded with Wigtown joy. Even some Puddlemere fans were grudgingly clapping. Harry and all his VIP box companions were screaming, and someone seemingly conjured a bottle of decent champagne out of nowhere, though Harry thought it had probably just been stashed away in some cupboard. 

Naheed's sister Zohreh caught Harry's eye as she headed for the back corner, and he grinned at her, following. From there they could _Apparate_ directly down to the field. After a catch like that they would need to get there quickly or they wouldn't be able to personally congratulate the team.

Without even thinking about the press crush Draco would surely be facing soon, Harry followed Zohreh down to the field and ran out to hug and kiss Draco.

"I am so proud of you!" Harry screamed as he ran toward his boyfriend. "I saw the whole thing. You were fucking amazing!"

Draco was only slightly taller than Harry, but he still managed to swing Harry up into his arms for a bone crushing hug. "I'm so glad you saw that!" he cried, fierce and proud in Harry's ear.

That was the last thing Harry heard before the press converged upon them like overfilling floodwaters. He saw their many, furious faces, was blinded by their camera flashes, heard what sounded like dozens of them screaming his name, and he panicked. 

Without thinking, Harry _Side-alonged_ Draco into his flat. He released his hold on Draco and sank to his knees on the white, tiled floor of his kitchen. He wrapped his arms around himself and clutched at his own shoulders, bent his head and tried to breathe.

“Merlin,” he hissed, still terrified. “Merlin fuck.”  


“What the bloody _fuck_ , Harry?” Draco screamed at him. “Why are we _here_?”  


“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry whimpered. “You should go back. I didn’t mean to bring you here.”  


“I cannot fucking believe you,” Draco yelled, still standing over Harry, still sweaty and dishevelled from his incredible victory. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”  


“The press,” Harry whispered, still on the verge of a panic attack. “The press. They were screeching my name.”  


“They fucking were not,” Draco insisted. “They were calling for me! They wanted _me_ , not you! For once this was absolutely, undeniably about _me_ , Harry! I wanted you there, but it was my victory, mine! And you stole me away from it! I can’t _Apparate_ back into that crush now, I’ll kill someone trying to _Apparate_ into a crowd like that! You stole my glory! Pulled me right out of it and made it all about you!”  


Harry looked up, horrified, still clutching his own shoulders. “You can still _Apparate_ into the locker room or something, walk over to the crush! I can’t believe this! How can you not understand that I had to get out of there?”  


“Because they were interested in me, not you!” Draco spread his arms out, wide and angry. He was still holding the Snitch, Harry realized. “Besides, I had it under control!”  


Harry forced himself to stand. “No you didn’t, Draco, no one can control the press, can’t you see that?” Harry stepped away, pressed his back to a tall, wooden cabinet. “And because of them, no one can control the public. They are the reason I have to live like a fucking hermit! I can’t spend time with you if you can’t understand this! We talked about this. I thought you’d understood me!” Harry forced himself to let go of his shoulders and stand tall.  


Draco paced away, then returned. “I thought you were exaggerating, to make a point. I mean, you always liked publicity, I don’t see why this is different?”  


Harry felt his ears start to burn along with his temper. He took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. “I cannot fucking believe that after all this, you still believe that _bullshit_ you spouted about me as a child,” he hissed in fury. “I? Always liked? _Publicity_? Fuck you, Draco, fuck you and your little dog, too, and the horse you rode in on and the Quidditch bat I want to shove up your arse! Get the fuck out of my flat, Draco. And while you’re at it, get the fuck out of my life! You can come back when you stop thinking I’m some sort of attention whore!” Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Draco, whose eyes went huge for a millisecond before he narrowed them again.  


“Fuck you,” Draco grit out. “I don’t need you. You’re a coward and fool. I’ll be just fine without _you_.” He pulled his wand and _Apparated_ out with a deep boom.  


Harry slid to the floor and started to cry.


	9. Autumn comes to LilyAlice Farm

It wouldn't last, of course. Winter was coming. But thank Merlin, for now there was a tonne of work to do on the farm. Harry buried himself in it. 

He did everything he could to avoid thinking about Draco. Talking about it was out of the question. He pushed Millicent to take a few days off with Val. He told Pattin to work from home for a couple days. He got so good at glaring Neville down that Neville stopped trying to talk to him about the farm, let alone Draco.

He got an owl from Ron suggesting they go out for a pint, so he responded with a politely generic "too busy right now." Then he got a far more pointed owl from Hermione stating that he might not read the paper anymore but she did, and he obviously needed to talk to someone because she was sure he wasn't talking to anyone, and when should she clear her calendar and sit down with him for tea and sympathy? He buried it under three books on permaculture for a few hours. Eventually he scrawled a response that said, in essence, "I'll let you know when I'm ready. I'm _so_ not ready." He owled it off with Demeter before he lost his nerve.

He fixed all three greenhouse roofs. He fixed and then upgraded the aquaponics system. He built the goats a far superior pen, and then he fashioned a posh watering trough for them, just to prove he could. He built a second, better, larger chicken tractor, even though the first one was fine. He harvested the honey all by himself, even though arguably he was a bit on the early side. 

He harvested all the unripe tomatoes before frost could get them, and then he pickled sixteen large jars, adding pretty jar covers and labels for the Farmer's Market. It took all day. The last few green tomatoes he battered and fried. He ate them with a tub of ice cream in front of the telly, all alone. 

Ironically, he skipped the Farmer's Market that first Saturday, though it was supposed to be his turn to accompany Jessica. He got Pattin to do it for him. Even with a fake face, he couldn't deal with crowds right now. He knew he'd made the right decision about that when Jessica and Pattin got back and simply shook their heads at him. 

He was miserable.

He hid himself away in a Muggle public library for a day and a half, researching the possibility of adding pigs to the farm, only to decide — after all that reading — pigs would be a terrible idea.

Late autumn was a good time to plant raspberries, so he built a whole new raised bed just for them — otherwise they could overgrow their welcome — and then planted it full of new runners. Late autumn was a good time to plant strawberries, too. So once the raspberries were all planted Harry started all over again, putting in another new, large raised bed in a sunny place and filling it with tiny seedlings that wouldn't fruit for months.

He built Demeter a Nest Box. He'd only been promising Neville and Millicent he would do that for about eighteen months.

He built a cold frame, and he liked it so much he built three more — each one larger than the last. Globe artichokes in one, courgettes in the second, and lettuces in the third. Finally, Pattin felt forced to point out that Harry was spending money the farm didn't have. Harry reimbursed the farm from his personal vault again and went home early to sulk in a long, hot bath. 

He did a lot of sulking, as a matter of fact. He sulked as he fixed, as he built, as he weeded and as he harvested. He sulked at the well and he sulked at his owl. He sulked on his broken swivel chair and he sulked as he got wet in the rain. He sulked as he renewed his Diagon Alley Farmer's Market stall licence and he sulked when Pattin objected to Harry taking over work he was paying Pattin to do. He sulked as he fell asleep and he sulked every morning after he woke up alone at the farm in his tiny, chilly, wooden tent and remembered what an arse Draco had been, and what a brilliant, surprising gift he had been before that.

Finally, Millicent had had enough. She returned from a few days away with Val in the Lake District, and it wasn't long before Harry destroyed every trace of joy and relaxation she'd gained from four days away from work with her sweetheart.

On Thursday, she cornered him in the little open-air, low-roofed space they called an office. The place, ironically, where the whole farm had intervened to get him cleaned up and sweet-smelling for his first non-blind date with Draco.

"What he did was shitty," Millicent growled at Harry. "No one here is denying that."

Knowing there was a huge "but" coming next, Harry glowered half-heartedly at Millicent from underneath his messy hair. He hadn't really learned to spell it into a bun without help, and she wasn't doing little favours like that for him lately. He was too much of a thorn in everyone's paw.

"But," she continued slowly, giving him time to roll his 'told you so' eyes, "he was good for you, and you were mad for him."

"I refuse to apologize," Harry insisted, only refraining from stamping a foot out of sheer willpower.

"I'm not asking you to," Millicent insisted. "All I'm saying is go and talk to Luna. She got you into this mess. Go and find out what she thinks."

"I'll think about it," Harry sulked, and turned away to pretend to look through some paperwork. But he already knew it was a good idea, and he would go see Luna soon. He felt like a tree bracing for winter. Almost all his leaves were already gone. He couldn't take much more of this without shutting down.

\- * - * - * - * -

He couldn't think of anything else to do. The farm was as up-to-date as he could possibly get it. Everything was working. Everything ripe was harvested and prepared for the next Farmer's Market. The goats were happy, the chickens were happy, his employees and business partner were satisfied. (When he wasn't inflicting them with his sulking, anyway.) The paperwork was all done: government, budgeting, licensing, grant applications. There were no weeds left. Anywhere. No one had ever seen that before.

He'd buried himself in work and now there was no work to be done.

He'd not actually thought that would be possible.

Harry sat down on the broken swivel chair again and picked up a quill to write to Luna. He smoothed out the parchment and wrote: "Dear Luna," on it. He stared at those words for a long moment, mind blank. Then he added: "21 October 2004." Then he wrote "Thursday."

He stared at the paper for a little longer. He smoothed it again. He stared at the low, wooden ceiling and tried to put his hurt, confusion, and loneliness into words. He looked at the parchment and felt his anger color it red. This was all Luna's fault. She'd pushed him to try her dating service and then she'd set him up with _Malfoy_. Or had it been Pansy? Or, no, it was probably a spell? But it was _Luna and Pansy's_ spell, obviously. Luna'd fucked it all up, her dating spell. Her dating _society_. She'd wasted his summer and hurt him. It was Luna's fault!

He stared at the parchment for another long, angry heartbeat. Then he stood, crumpled the page in one fist and _Apparated_ to Luna's doorstep. He found her there, outside on her patio, shelling peas. "Harry!" she called, clearly delighted. She wore something flowing and blue. Her patio swing was wood, painted white. It hung from two skyhooks above her head on tightly pulled metal chains.

Harry's shoulders sank and he felt the anger drain out of him. Sand out of a broken hourglass. He sat on the patio swing next to her and listened to the chains creak as the two of them swung.

"Why did you do it?" he finally asked. "How did your dating society magic fuck up so badly as to set me up with _Draco Malfoy_?"

"That wasn't the spells," Luna said. She patted his knee. "That was me. Me and Pansy. We didn't need spells to set you two together. Your joining was clear." She nodded and shelled another pea.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Harry asked, somewhere between flabbergasted and angry.

"Of course!" Luna chirped, "but I know this is just a crossroad. You'll see, Pansy is engaging with it." 

Harry watched Luna shell more peas as he attempted to say something coherent.

"Didn't you ever wonder," Luna said, serene as ever as she slowly shelled her peas, "why I never sent you Draco's full disclosure exposure? Like the one I sent about you? Or why he was the only person we ever suggested you date?"

Harry had certainly wondered about that first thing. "I thought we told you we were dating, so you didn't suggest anyone else." He shrugged. "We have all the same friends. We _are_ friends. Or so I thought. I can't believe you did this to me, Luna, I'm fucking destroyed." Harry felt tears prick his eyes and he tried to pull them back through sheer force of will. Why, he wasn't sure. If he had any friend he could safely cry in front of, surely it was Luna?

"For most society members we send a fully exposed disclosure to two or three people. Sometimes we edit out things that should be mentioned only in person, but we don't usually feel that vibration. But when Draco finally acquiesced to Pansy and filled out his folder packet, she came running to me! We both agreed immediately that we didn't need to run the spells on Draco, because he was perfect for you."

Harry had a lot of questions now, but he could only ask one at a time. He tried something he thought she could answer quickly. "Had you run those spells on me?"

"By then Pansy had," Luna said, smiling sadly as she ran a thumbnail up the seam of a pea pod to split it open. "But you didn't match with anyone."

Harry swallowed. "Am I so impossible? Or, or terrible? What's the matter with me?"

Luna put down her basket of peas and turned to Harry, putting a hand on each knee and capturing his eyes and his complete attention. "Nothing is wrong with you. You are wonderful. You have very strong needs, Harry. Needs for things that very few people are strong or close enough to give you."

Harry snorted once. Draco didn't seem to be in that group of 'very few people.' Not since that horrible moment after he caught the Snitch. 

Luna ignored him. "Harry Potter," she said, "needs to be challenged. You require humour. You need a complete lack of fawning."

"Draco certainly had that down," Harry interjected, still sullen.

"But you also require a kind of respect most people don't even approach requiring."

Harry ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. "If that means what I think it means, then that's exactly what Draco was incapable of."

"Not incapable," Luna insisted. "Just delayed."

Harry didn't believe her. "Why did you think I should go out with Draco?"

"You need someone unique. Draco is beautiful—"

Harry snorted. That, certainly, he could admit. 

"And strong. Draco is clever. He would never be silly about the war, or treat you like the sum of your teenage accomplishments. But at the same time, like so many others, Draco is drawn to you, fascinated by you. He's just not going to deal with that reality in the same way a 'groupie' type would."

"Draco still envies you," Pansy said from the doorway, and Harry startled to hear her enter the conversation.

"That was the blessing and the curse of setting you two up." Pansy strolled casually out of the house into the front garden. Unlike Luna's pale blue robes and bare feet, Pansy was dressed like some sort of slutty Muggle model. Her tight red dress showed off the enticing curves of her breasts. At first Harry couldn't understand how she walked, as the hem went to her ankles, but then he saw the slit that went nearly to her waist. Her spiky black high heels accentuated the curves of her rear and legs. Her bobbed black hair swung as she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into a ball that she captured with her wand and _Vanished_ after every few puffs.

It was a strange outfit for such a wholesome, rural setting, but he thought she made it work.

Luna looked up at Pansy with an uncomplicated smile that Harry found himself wondering at. First with surprise (Pansy?), and second with longing. _Draco used to look at me like that sometimes,_ he thought, and scuffed his shoe along the wooden planks of Luna's father's patio.

Pansy waved her cigarette around, the smoke obediently balling itself up like a skein of charcoal wool and following her about as she punctuated her opinions with her expressive hands and bright red fingernails. "I knew Draco could be the perfect man for you. Luna and I both saw that. Immediately. But there would be hurdles. I thought he'd be better at jumping them, to be honest."

Harry stared at her, unable to think of a single question.

"I was a bit worried about your reactions, too," Pansy said, looking down at him. "But I figured seeing his delectable arse would be all you needed to overcome your old prejudices. Gryffindors are such impulsive little fuckers sometimes." She grinned wolfishly at Luna, who released a tinkling bell of a laugh. 

"So, when he firecalled me, told me a little about your first, blind date, I knew it was all up to him now." She paced back and forth in front of Harry and Luna, trailing her obedient ball of cigarette smoke and showing off a ridiculous amount of leg every time she turned her left side toward them. 

"I knew he wouldn't listen to a word of advice from either of us. So Luna and I, we held our breaths, crossed our fingers, and hoped he wouldn't fuck this up too bad." She took a deep, filthy draw off her cigarette, hollowing her cheeks like she was sucking cock. 

Harry, confused again, looked to Luna, who, still relaxed and nodding along, shelled peas and smiled at him with the same generous, tension free smile he always saw on her face. Were the two of them lovers? Friends? Did it even matter? Right now Harry wanted to know what the hell Pansy thought about him and Draco.

"Of course, his worst stumbling block was always going to be your horrific relationship with the press." She turned to face him, waving her glowing cigarette. "Doesn't it strike you as odd, Potter, that after all these years they _still_ act like you're the biggest new pop star on the wireless?"

Harry nodded. The war had been over for more than five years, and he'd sequestered himself from the press so thoroughly for so much of that time. Why on earth wouldn't they forget?

"I think it's because they're bored," Pansy declared with a firm authority. "And they have one-track minds. No one has gotten that big 'Harry Potter' scoop, so they'll just keep salivating after it until someone publishes one. They forget about you for a while, every so often, because something else distracts them."

"Like that scandal when Minister Laurechain was caught cheating on his wife with his secretary _and_ his secretary's daughter," Harry said, remembering a lovely six or so month period when his usually beleaguered staff received not a single request for a chance at a Potter interview. 

"Yep," Pansy said. She took a last, short drag, then _Vanished_ her stubby cigarette and the remaining smoke. 

"But…" Harry was confused. "There was all that horrible, invasive press coverage before I started the farm. What about those times when people tricked me into getting photographed, blackmailed me into interviews?"

Pansy stared up at the threatening clouds for a moment, clearly pondering the question. It was Luna who responded, though.

"Two reasons," she responded as she calmly shelled the last few pods. "One, people could tell those were forced. That doesn't satisfy in the same way a freely offered conversation would. No reader felt closer to you, no writer felt the honor of truly speaking with you. You held back everything you possibly could. The anger you had… it all came through on the page. And two, I think those were too early. I think we had to get a good three years or so out before you even had a chance at things calming down."

"Do you think I could get them to calm down now?"

"You could do a big interview with me. Daddy would publish it in the Quibbler," Luna suggested. "I think that would help tremendously."

"First, though, let's sort out this bullshit with Draco," Pansy said. 

"How?" Harry asked, almost daring to think she could have a plan that would work.

"Just leave it to me," she said. She lit a second cigarette and turned away, toward the stream. Then Pansy looked back at Harry, over her shoulder. 

"Have you looked up the snitch-winged dragonfly, yet?" she asked. Surprised, Harry shook his head, no. He'd thought about it, but decided if Draco wanted to keep the real reason for his tattoo a secret, perhaps Harry shouldn't meddle. Pansy, though, seemed to disagree. "Look them up," she said sharply. Then she strolled away, toward the stream. 

"How are you two friends?" Harry asked, but Luna merely laughed again, a joyous, tinkling bell. Then she went inside with her basket of peas, leaving Harry alone on her patio swing to contemplate the situation Pansy had asked him to accept himself in. Could he leave this to her? Could he consider this matter — and his heart — something other than closed?

He sat on Luna's creaky patio swing for a long time, trying to decide.


	10. Harry needs a library

Harry kept feeling like he should be at the farm, but he couldn't think of what he would be doing there. He'd done all his own work, and plenty of Millicent and Pattin's as well. Eventually he remembered the homework Pansy had assigned. But where did one look up a snitch-winged dragonfly? That, Harry knew, wouldn't be in the library where he had researched adding pigs to LilyAlice Farm. 

Hermione, of course. She would know where to send him. Harry floo-called.

"Come on over," she said, jiggling little Rose, who was crying.

Harry came through and almost immediately got a baby shoved into his arms. "It's Ron's turn to sleep, but I'm exhausted. Can you just walk her for a few minutes?" Hermione collapsed into a chair, and Harry winced in sympathy. There was a reason he hadn't been seeing much of Ron and Hermione lately, and that reason was gnawing on a cold flannel and whimpering in his arms. 

"Teeth again?" he asked, making his pats on Rose's back firm and rhythmic. 

"Molars," Hermione said, her eyes closed, her spine curving like a thrown ragdoll. "Three at once."

Harry winced again. "I knew I was gay for a reason," he whispered to the baby in his arms.

"What brings you to our fair and toothy abode this lovely morning, Harry?" Hermione asked through her wild, unbrushed hair. 

"I need to know where to find a book on obscure magical insects," Harry said, grabbing the flannel Rose was trying to throw on the floor. He gave it back to her and she crammed it into her mouth and chomped enthusiastically.

"Weird," Hermione said. "But yeah, what you want is the wizarding library in the Chislehurst Caves. It's got a huge section on Magizoology. You aren't a member, so you can't check anything out, but you are allowed to read anything you like while you're in there. They're open till 10pm tonight, I think. It is a weekday, right? Anyway, you can Floo right in. I used to…" she yawned hugely and rearranged herself in the chair. "Used to go there all the time."

"Go sleep, Hermione," Harry said, watching her curl further into herself. "I can walk Rosie til she falls asleep. I'll Floo to the library after."

"Really?" Hermione finally moved her hair out of her eyes to look at him properly, and Harry could hardly believe how tired she looked.

"Yes," Harry said, and bounced her snuffly, whimpering baby. "Right now."

Hermione didn't argue again. She just dragged herself out of her chair and down the hall to her bedroom. 

Just over fifteen minutes later, Harry finally laid a sleeping Rose on the duvet between her sleeping parents and cast a safety spell or two. Then he checked the house's wards, wrote Ron and Hermione a note, and Flooed directly to the library.

\- * - * - * - * -

The Chislehurst library was pretty brill, for a library. A spry, purple-haired librarian (he reminded Harry of Luna, just a bit) was able to help him find some likely books very quickly, and Harry was soon sitting at a large wooden table in a room full of impossibly tall bookshelves and plain stone walls, paging through the first one, _Magical Fauna of Australasia_ , looking for Draco's dragonfly.

And there it was. This drawing was a bit different from the one Harry remembered from Draco's shoulder. The dragonfly here was perched on a branch, and pictured from the side. But it was the same creature, that was certain. He ran a fingertip over the page, wistful, and then began to read. He skimmed over introductory information — where they live, what they eat — wondering what had caught Draco's attention, when he saw a passage that made him back up and read slowly.

> The snitch-winged dragonfly is also well known among Magizoologists for its clearly magical ability to remain free and uncaged. As of this writing, the only specimens that have been successfully placed in museums and university collections are those that were captured after the insect died a natural death. Otherwise magiscience must rely on photography and drawings. The snitch-winged dragonfly has been observed freeing itself from stunning spells and summoning spells, from glue charmed branches, and even from Muggle cage style traps. They simply ignore attempts at stasis casts, and when the air around them is transfigured into a net or cage, they can nonetheless magic their way through. 

Harry read that twice: fast, then slow. Then looked to see if there was more.

> Perhaps the most unusual fact about the snitch-winged dragonfly (and clearly there are many such unusual facts to choose from), is that the snitch-winged dragonfly injects her fertilized eggs into snake eggs (generally those of either the Mulga or the Gwardar). The snitch-winged dragonflies pass through the first two (or three, if the egg proves large enough) naiad stages inside the snake egg, feeding all the while on the snake, then "hatch" from the snake egg in a coordinated swarm. As a result, snake populations are more tightly controlled throughout the snitch-winged dragonfly habitat.
> 
> Some magiscientists even claim to have observed snitch-winged dragonflies injecting their eggs directly into snakes, though this has yet to be captured with photography and is considered speculative magiscience as of this writing.

Harry took a deep breath to dislodge the lump in his throat. No wonder Draco wanted one of these on his shoulder blade, over his snitch catching arm. Draco was left handed, so that was also the arm where he had once had a Dark Mark. Harry looked back at the page, wondering if there could be even more.

> The snitch-winged dragonfly is nearly unique among insects both magical and non, in that it mates for life. Bonded pairs of snitch-winged dragonflies have been observed flying together, hunting together, pollinating flowered trees and water plants together, and fighting off other bonded dragonfly pairs to defend their remarkably large territories. They are, as previously discussed, profoundly territorial. 

Harry shoved his chair away from the table and stood up too fast, nearly knocking the chair over. He grabbed and righted the chair, then rushed for the Floo, leaving the books on the table where he'd carelessly scattered them. He had to get the fuck out of here before anyone tried to talk to him and he broke down crying.

Once at home he ended up staring at the wall for a while, then taking a long walk to a Muggle cinema to see a film. It was diverting, so he ended up buying a ticket to a second one, and then a third. Eventually it was late and the thought of more popcorn made him feel ill, so he started the long, slow walk back home.


	11. Read the paper lately?

When Harry got back from the cinema his Floo was chiming. It was after eleven at night. Who the hell was calling?

Fearing bad news, Harry took a deep breath and answered the Floo, but it wasn't Molly wringing her hands, or Millicent growling about something badly broken at the farm. It was Draco. "May I come through?"

Harry stepped away from the fireplace and gestured for Draco to enter the little space between the couch and the fireplace that Harry had just vacated. Draco arrived moments later, spat from the fireplace in a jet of green fire and holding a stack of… newspaper?

"I assume you've seen all this," Draco said. His voice was gruff and Harry couldn't place the reason. Angry? Rough from tears? Disgusted?

"No," Harry admitted, eyes toward the newspapers. He couldn't see any headlines. "I stopped reading the _Daily Prophet_ years ago. I've yet to find a magical publication I can trust to be honest. My friends have learned to keep me up to date when important things happen in the world." Harry took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. "Look," he tried, uncertain and uncomfortable, "would you like to sit down? I could make tea?"

Instead of answering, Draco ran a hand through his hair. He grimaced, looked up at the ceiling, and then tossed the newspapers, headlines up, onto Harry's couch, one by one. 

Curious in spite of himself, Harry looked. First, _Witch Weekly_ had an enormous photo of Draco and Harry hugging on the Wigtown pitch. The headline was in black type but it was outlined in pink, and Harry watched in amazed embarrassment as little pink hearts puffed off the letters: "Heroic Harry finally falls?"

Next was the _Daily Prophet_. Unsurprisingly their angle was far less romantic; far more political and mean: "Death Eater now snitcher of Heroes." They had chosen a photo of Draco striding alone onto the Wigtown pitch toward a huge crush of photographers, fans and teammates. He looked angry, then slightly wrecked for a split second, and then he just looked furiously determined. Under the fold, Harry saw, tucked into the no-doubt nearly completely fabricated nonsense that — oh Merlin — Skeeter herself had written, was a second photo, this time of just Harry. It was an old picture, taken that one time they had foolishly tried opening the farm to visitors. They had banned the press but press had shown up anyway, and Harry watched himself try to get rid of an unwelcome photographer. He recognized the context immediately. Of course he did. He could see what was behind his photographed head. But to anyone else it would look, in this context, like Harry was angry at Draco and trying to get rid of him. 

Then, worst of all, was the publication Harry hated most: _Magical Mirror_. For below the fold they had chosen a photo of the two men hugging on the Wigtown pitch, but they'd gone Muggle, and it was a still photo. This was a favourite trick of theirs, to chose the one, worst still exposure and focus on it. They had somehow managed to get a still of Harry's terrified face, the millisecond, Harry would bet, before he'd _Side-Along Apparated_ the two of him into his kitchen. Draco had swung Harry up into his arms, and had been holding Harry tight against his chest. Harry had hugged him right back. But in this photo, Harry wasn't holding on anymore. It looked as though Draco was trying to constrain, capture, maybe even hurt Harry. And Harry, of course, looked terrified. And he had been. Of this. That this would happen. That he would fail to wall the press, and their photographers, and their lies, from his true life. That they would destroy something he loved yet again.

Deliberately choosing not to turn it over and check the no-doubt hideous, evil, lying headline that the _Mirror_ would have put with that lie of a photograph, Harry buried his head in his arms and turned away.

"Pansy finally convinced me I owe you an apology," he heard Draco say. 

Harry knew he should say something. Something gracious? Something cutting? But instead he held back his voice to prevent himself from sobbing out loud.

"I knew the press were converging on us, but I chose to believe it was about me. I knew you hated and feared the press, that you expected something like this," he waved a hand toward the newspapers arrayed on Harry's couch, "but I chose to believe you were over-reacting. I knew you _Side-Alonged_ me with you out of panic, but I chose to believe you did it out of carelessness."

Harry had no idea how to respond. He'd been in such pain for nearly two weeks, and now Draco was saying everything he had longed to hear. Why wasn't he happy?

"Tea," he managed to choke out, and turned toward his kitchen. 

He thought he heard Draco sigh quietly, but Draco followed him and sat in the small kitchen anyway, watching Harry put together a tea tray. He chose a black blend he liked, scoured out his teapot, boiled water. He fetched the milk he liked, got lemon in case Draco wanted it, and pulled the sugar bowl out. Finally he couldn't put it off any longer, and he sat down across from Draco. 

"I forgot the _Daily Prophet_ owns _Magical Mirror_. That's how these photos ended up in the _Mirror_ , even though the _Mirror_ doesn't cover Quidditch games."

Harry thought about what Pansy and Luna had told him about the press needing some sort of closure with him. He thought about the big interview Luna had suggested. He wondered if Draco had spoken with Pansy or Luna about ways Harry could have fixed this beforehand. But all he said was, "mm." He poured two cups of tea and put milk and sugar in his. He watched Draco add sugar to his own tea and ignore the milk and lemon he'd brought out. He tried to think of something to say that wasn't inflected with desperation, injury or fury.

"Um, Cameron was furious with me when I told the team I was shocked by what had happened. He reminded me about that time when the _Mirror_ humiliated him."

"Outside The PourHouse," Harry murmured. 

"Of course you wouldn't have forgotten," Draco said, and he put down his teacup and sighed. "Look," he said, and he reached for Harry's hand. Harry let him take it. "I'm really, really fucking sorry. I was wrong. I hurt you. I let _them_ hurt you. I want you back. I want to make this work. Do I have a fucking chance? Anything? Should I just go now?"

Harry stared at Draco and tried to firmly, and coldly, tell him it was over. He formulated a thought. He would say 'You went too far. I can't forgive this. You should just go.' He opened his mouth. 

He caught Draco's eye. 

He closed his mouth. Draco squeezed his hand. Harry felt tears form in his eyes and he wanted to smack himself upside the head. "I just," he started, and the tears began to flow.

"I m-miss you," he said, blubbering into his tea, and Draco came around the table and took Harry into his arms.


	12. Epilogue: The Quibbler interview.

My Dear Readers,  
I write to you from my very own patio, where I am sitting down with Harry Potter and his delightful boyfriend Draco Malfoy. How are you lovely gentlemen?

DM- We are both quite well, Luna. Thank you.

HP- Speak for yourself, love. I'm horrifically uncomfortable.

Q- I'm sorry to hear that, Harry. Can you tell me why?

HP- You know I have a bad relationship with the press, Luna. Of course, you've been helping me out with that since Hogwarts. That's why I agreed to do this. 

Q- And I'm very grateful! I can see that you are both blissfully free of Wrackspurts at the moment. To what would you attribute that? 

DM- I would say that we are, and the evidence is how clearly we've both been able to think since we freed ourselves. But I'd say we freed ourselves in the first place with all the marvellously positive thinking we've been doing since we started dating. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?

HP- I, er, yeah. I've been having a lot of really positive thoughts since I, you know, took the risk of opening up and trying this relationship out. It's been really great, too.

Q- And everyone will want to hear about how great it is! 

DM- I agree. Going out with Harry has been the best thing about returning to England.

Q- Even better than being named first-string Seeker for the Wigtown Wanderers?

DM- Definitely. Being with Harry has no downsides. But taking Barü Barcel's job was bittersweet. Barü was a fantastic Seeker, a valuable teammate, and a true friend. She made me feel completely welcome on the team and never made me feel lesser for being second-string. I feel conflicted about her needing to retire so young. I'd expected to be working with her for another three years, at least.

HP- But that shoulder injury… she just couldn't overcome it. It's kind of crap.

DM- (Squeezes Harry's hand and knocks his shoulder to Harry's.) Yes, as Harry so eloquently phrases it, Barü's career ending injury _is kind of crap._

HP- Oh shut it, you. (Harry leans in toward Draco, puts his head on Draco's shoulder for a moment. When he raises his head, he is smiling.)

Q- So now everyone knows about Draco's exciting career. Can you tell us what you have been up to, Harry? A lot of people were surprised when you chose not to become an Auror.

HP- Being an Auror…. I didn't want to fight anymore. I didn't want to risk the Elder Wand thing, either. And, before you ask, yes, the stories people read in the _Daily Prophet_ five years ago about Kingsley Shacklebolt helping me dispose of the Elder Wand are completely true. But Professor Dumbledore had warned me that I could never become an Auror, never go into combat, never risk losing the Wand's loyalty. It was such a powerful artefact that, even once it had been destroyed, I couldn't help but worry that it wasn't a hundred percent… gone, you know?

(Draco nods and pats Harry's hand, encouraging him to continue speaking.)

Right, so I wanted to contribute, obviously, but I wanted a private life, a creative life. And I want to create, to add, to boost life, I guess? And for a while I had no idea how I was going to do that, but then I learned about permaculture and suddenly farming was this fascinating thing. (He laughs, self-deprecating, but Draco gives him a wide smile and Harry's discomfort and insecurity seem to melt away. He sits up taller.)

So I contacted Neville Longbottom when I got back from Australia, and, lucky me, Neville was not really all that interested in remaining where he was.

(Some readers will recall that Longbottom, a war hero in his own right, left DMLE not quite a year after joining the Auror force. He and Potter became business partners shortly thereafter.)

Together we looked into what we wanted to do, what our goals were, what we would need to accomplish them, and what money we could each individually invest, and we went land hunting. I couldn't love our farm more, you know? (Harry's face has lit up as if from within. Talking about his vocation clearly shows how fulfilled he is by this work.) Neville focuses a bit on experimental stuff, but for me, it's about growing, producing, the healthiest food possible. It just makes me feel so….

DM: I think what Harry means, if I may? (Harry nods. They squeeze hands and smile at one another.) The farm enables Harry to feel useful, to see clearly the ways in which he benefits both the world, and other people. That has always been important to him. 

HP- Yeah. That's…. That's right. I feel really good about it, growing food, selling healthy food. It's just a new way for me to be of service though, you know? (Draco nods at him.) I've kind of always… been of service? And I wanted to keep doing that. But in a different way. I never want to hurt anyone on purpose ever again. Even a bad person. I didn't want to concentrate on the bad in the world, the bad things people sometimes do. I'd done a lot of that? I was done. The Elder Wand just clinched it. 

DM- The farm is beautiful, too. I enjoy visiting. I should probably say that the conditions aren't quite what I'm accustomed to-

HP- (Breaks in with raucous laughter.) What my boyfriend means is that when we spend the night there, we're basically sleeping in a wooden tent. I have the farm warded to the gills, but we have no running water, no lights, no heat. It's pretty much wand magic or nothing for everything except the fresh eggs for breakfast in the morning.

DM- Oh goodness, the eggs! Have you ever eaten an egg so fresh it is still warm from the chicken? I had no idea what I was missing until I ate breakfast with Harry at the farm. He got up early that first time, he kindly let me sleep in, he's so sweet, and when I woke again I could smell the fresh eggs cooking with the fresh tomatoes, potatoes right out of the ground, pumpkin juice direct from the pumpkin… I never eat better than when I sleep at LilyAlice Farm. 

(Harry blushes a bit and looks terribly pleased.)

Q- Now that we have established how happy you both are in the lives you have outside this relationship, could you tell me a bit about how you nonetheless make each other even happier?

DM- Harry finds it incredibly easy to make me happy, because all he has to do is be himself. Harry is kind, he's generous, he's interested in my life, my concerns. He's a good listener and when he talks, he is funny and insightful. And when I get done with a hard Quidditch game, he gives fantastic backrubs. (Both men grin. Harry looks just slightly embarrassed.)

HP- He makes me so happy, Luna. I love how funny and snarky he is. His wit, his dedication to Quidditch, his attachment to his family, but he's also his own, independent man…. And, er, (Harry blushes) he's really gorgeous, too. You know, before we went on that first date, I had nearly everything I needed for a perfect life, my best life. I feel so good about so many of my choices, you know? LilyAlice farm, choosing to work with Neville — who is just the best, really — my wonderful friends. My life was really good before Draco came back into it. But Draco just…

DM- Love makes everything better, Luna. I think it's that simple.

HP- Yeah. It's just that simple.

(They hug each other, and we all shake hands.)

HP- But Luna, speaking of love. I still don't know if you and Pansy are dating?

Q- (laughs)

The end


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